want to give a party, you can illuminate
the garden of the hotel with Chinese lanterns. That would be much
prettier than to picnic on uncomfortable rocks out in the sea with
nothing but cold things to eat and only the moon for an illumination. I
am sure Beatrice would like it much better."

San Miniato laughed.

"What a prosaic person you are!" he exclaimed. "Can you not imagine that
a young girl's disposition may be softened by moonlight, mandolins and
night breezes?"

"No. I never understood that. And after all if you want moonlight you
can have it here. If it shines at Capri it will shine at Sorrento. At
least it seems to me so."

"No, dearest Marchesa," answered San Miniato triumphantly. "There you
are mistaken."

"About the moon?"

"Yes, about the moon. When it rises we do not see it here, on account of
the mountains behind us."

"But I have often seen the moon here, from this very place," objected
the Marchesa. "I am sure it is not a week ago that I saw it. You do not
mean to tell me that there are two moons, and that yours is different
from mine!"

"Very nearly. This at least I say. When the moon is full we can see it
rise from Tragara, and we can not see it from this place."

"How inexplicable nature is!" exclaimed the Marchesa fanning herself
lazily. "I will not try to understand the moon any more. It tires me. A
lemonade, San Miniato--ring for a lemonade. I am utterly exhausted."

"Shall I ask Donna Beatrice's opinion about Tragara?" inquired San
Miniato rising.

"Oh yes! Anything--only do not argue with me. I cannot bear it. I
suppose you will put me into that terrible boat and make me sit in it
for hours and hours, until all my bones are broken, and then you will
give me cold macaroni and dry bread and warm wine and water, and the
sailors will eat garlic, and it will be insufferable and you will call
it divine. And of course Beatrice will be so wretched that she will not
listen to a word you say, and will certainly refuse you without
hesitation. A lemonade, San Miniato, for the love of heaven! My throat
is parched with this talking."

When the Marchesa had got what she wanted, San Miniato sat down beside
Beatrice at the piano, in the sitting room.

"Donna Beatrice gentilissima," he began, "will you deign to tell me
whether you prefer the moon to Chinese lanterns, or Chinese lanterns to
the moon?"

"To wear?" asked the young girl with a laugh.

"If you please, of course. Anything would be