er his back, and tremblingly he gathered the
bottom up, lest he should step upon it.

Leonora laughed at his embarrassment.

"Don't be afraid; no matter if you do tread on it. One would think you
were wearing a sacred veil from the respect you show that coat. It isn't
worth much. I use it only to travel in. A grandduke gave it to me in
Saint Petersburg."

And to show more clearly how little she prized the princely gift, she
wrapped it closer around the boy, patting at his shoulders to fit it
more tightly to him.

Slowly they walked back into the front room. Meanwhile, the appearance
of the barber, dressed in his luxuriant gown, was greeted with shouts of
laughter in the dining-room. Cupido was taking full advantage of the
occasion. The train in one hand and stroking his side-whiskers with the
other, he was writhing about like a prima donna in her big scene and
singing in a falsetto soprano voice. The peasant family laughed like
mad, forgetting the disaster that had overtaken their home; Beppa opened
her eyes wide, surprised at the elegant figure of the man, and the grace
with which he pronounced the Italian verses. Even poor dona Pepa hitched
around in her armchair and applauded. The barber, according to her, was
the most charming devil in the world.

Rafael was standing on the balcony, at Leonora's side, his gaze lost in
the darkness, his spirit lulled by the music of her sweet voice, his
body snug and comfortable in that elegant garment which seemed to have
retained something of the warmth and perfume of her shoulders. With
marks of very real interest, she was questioning him about the desperate
trip down the river.

Rafael answered her inquiries with bated breath.

"What you have done," the prima donna was saying, "deserves my deep,
deep gratitude! It is a chivalrous act worthy of ancient times.
Lohengrin, arriving in his little boat to save Elsa! Only the swan is
lacking ...unless you want to call Cupido a swan...."

"And suppose you had been carried off--drowned!..." the youth exclaimed
in justification of his rashness.

"Drowned!...I must confess that at first I was somewhat afraid. Not so
much of dying, for I'm somewhat tired of life--as you will realize after
you've known me a little longer. But a death like that, suffocated in
that mud, that filthy, dirty water that smells so bad, doesn't at all
appeal to me. If it were some green, transparent Swiss lake!... I want
beauty even in death; I'm concerned