her flowers might
not be the Purgatory of very good souls. I am glad to learn from you
that it is true. And yes, I should think that this flower's name was
sure to be Cecilia. Cecilia suits it perfectly. What, if one may ask, is
_your_ particular name?"

"Mariannunziata," said its bearer, not to make two bites of a cherry.

The lady's eyes grew round. "Dear me! A little short name like that?"
she marvelled.

"No," returned Annunziata, with dignity. "My name in full is longer. My
name in full is Giuliana Falconieri Maria Annunziata Casalone. Is that
not long enough?"

"Yes," the lady admitted, "that is just long enough." And she laughed
again.

"What is _your_ name?" inquired Annunziata.

"My name is Maria Dolores," the lady answered. "You see, we are both
named Maria."

"Of course," said Annunziata. "All Christians should be named Maria."

"So they should," agreed the lady. "Do you ever tell people how old you
are?"

"Yes," said Annunziata, "if they wish to know. Why not?"

The smile in the lady's eyes shone brighter than ever. "Do you think you
could be persuaded to tell me?"

"With pleasure," said Annunziata. "I am eleven years and five months.
And you?"

"I am just twice as old. I am twenty-two years and ten months. So, when
you are fifty, how old shall I be?"

"No," said Annunziata, shaking her head. "That trick has been tried with
me before. My friend Prospero has tried it with me. You hope I will say
that you will be a hundred. But it is not so. When I am fifty, you will
be sixty-one, going on sixty-two."

Still again the lady laughed, apparently with great amusement.

"What a little bundle of wisdom you are!" she exclaimed.

"Yes. My friend Prospero also says that I am wise," answered Annunziata.
"I like to see you laugh," she mentioned, looking critically at the face
above her. "You have beautiful teeth, they are so white and shining, and
so small, and your lips are so red."

"Oh," said the lady, laughing more merrily than ever. "Then you must be
very entertaining, and I will laugh a great deal."

Still looking critically at the lady's face, "Are you not," demanded
Annunziata, "the person who has come to visit the Signora Brandi?"

"Signora Brandi?" The lady considered. "Yes, I suppose I must be. At any
rate, I am the person who has come to visit Frau Brandt."

"Frao Branta? We call her Signora Brandi here," said Annunziata. "Are
you related to her?"

"No," said the lady, who always s