well what flowers
loved each other.

What a happy Barnaba! How the sun shone, and the trees whispered that
day, and how she talked to him, told him of all the years, of her
travels, for she had seen much, and he sat and listened, and wove the
flowers together, and watched her white hands and her full, soft throat.
And after the lady Henrighetta talked she sang a little. It was such a
fair day, so dreamy, and shady, and restful. She sang scraps of old
Italian songs. When Barnaba had finished the wreath he handed it to her
to place upon her head. "What shall I give you for this?" she said, and
held out her hand. It was only a moment, yet it was a long enough moment
to have placed a kiss upon it, and Barnaba was a man, and Barnaba longed
to do it, but did he dare? While he wondered Giuseppe and her father
joined them, and they all walked home to Henrighetta's together, talking
of the olden times. Then they bade her good-by. She lingered at the
doorway to watch them go. Barnaba looked back once and saw her standing
there, all in white, with the wreath he had made crowning her dark hair.
"And the fragrance shall last for ever," he whispered so softly that
Giuseppe did not hear.

The next day Guido came home. He was a real soldier now, with spurs and
a jaunty cloak, and such a twinkle in his eye and swing in his walk and
laugh in his voice that you longed to see him enter the room, and wished
for him to speak--not that he said so much, but he said it so well. The
quiet home was always changed when Guido arrived. Merry songs were heard
all over the house, horns, and racings, and laughter. And this time
Guido was more than ever gay. He and the lady Henrighetta grew to be
great friends. They would ride and walk, and although there were always
people with them, they seemed to talk for each other all the time, and
to smile for each other all the time. Every one saw it and smiled
too--every one but Barnaba. He was very busy during this while with his
father, correcting proofs for a new book on archaeology.

It was not until twelve long days had gone by that he again saw the lady
Henrighetta. Then he went over one evening to her father's villa, "where
we are to have some plays as we used to do," said Guido. Barnaba's heart
beat hard, and he longed to see the lady Henrighetta again. She was
getting ready for the play. "Barnaba, you are to be page, please," said
Guido, "and hold my lady's train." So Barnaba was page, and the play