.

"I would like more apology and less greeting."

"I am ready to apologise--"

"Humbly, without defending yourself," said Donna Tullia, beginning to
walk slowly forward. Giovanni was obliged to follow her.

"My defence is, nevertheless, a very good one," he said.

"Well, if it is really good, I may listen to it; but you will not make me
believe that you intended to behave properly."

"I am in a very bad humour. I would not inflict my cross temper upon you;
therefore I avoided you."

Donna Tullia eyed him attentively. When she answered she drew in her
small red lips with an air of annoyance.

"You look as though you were in bad humour," she answered. "I am sorry I
disturbed you. It is better to leave sleeping dogs alone, as the proverb
says."

"I have not snapped yet," said Giovanni. "I am not dangerous, I assure
you."

"Oh, I am not in the least afraid of you," replied his companion, with a
little scorn. "Do not flatter yourself your little humours frighten me. I
suppose you intend to follow?"

"Yes," answered Saracinesca, shortly; he was beginning to weary of Donna
Tullia's manner of taking him to task.

"You had much better come with us, and leave the poor foxes alone.
Valdarno is going to drive us round by the cross-roads to the Capannelle.
We will have a picnic lunch, and be home before three o'clock."

"Thanks very much. I cannot let my horse shirk his work. I must beg you
to excuse me--"

"Again?" exclaimed Donna Tullia. "You are always making excuses." Then
she suddenly changed her tone, and looked down. "I wish you would come
with us," she said, gently. "It is not often I ask you to do anything."

Giovanni looked at her quickly. He knew that Donna Tullia wished to
marry him; he even suspected that his father had discussed the matter
with her--no uncommon occurrence when a marriage has to be arranged with
a widow. But he did not know that Donna Tullia was in love with him in
her own odd fashion. He looked at her, and he saw that as she spoke there
were tears of vexation in her bold blue eyes. He hesitated a moment, but
natural courtesy won the day.

"I will go with you," he said, quietly. A blush of pleasure rose to
Madame Mayer's pink cheeks; she felt she had made a point, but she was
not willing to show her satisfaction.

"You say it as though you were conferring a favour," she said, with a
show of annoyance, which was belied by the happy expression of her face.

"Pardon me; I myself am