rhaps the least trifle too long, but hardly worth
mentioning--that aristocratic oval which the most graceful portrait
painters of the fifteenth century were rather fond of exaggerating. The
refined features had that subtle expression of suffering and lassitude
which lends the human charm to the Virgins of the Florentine _tondi_ of
the time of Cosimo. A soft and tender shadow, the fusion of two
diaphanous tints--violet and blue, lay under her eyes, which had the
leonine irises of the brown-haired angels. Her hair lay on her forehead
and temples like a heavy crown, and was gathered into a massive coil on
her neck. The shorter locks in front were thick and waving as those that
cover the head of the Farnese Antinous. Nothing could exceed the charm
of that delicate head, which seemed to droop under its burden as under
some divine chastisement.

'Dio mio!' she sighed, endeavouring to lighten with her hands the weight
of tresses gathered up and compressed under her hat. 'My head aches as
if I had been hanging by the hair for an hour. I cannot keep it fastened
up for long together, it tires me so. It is a perfect slavery.'

'Do you remember at school,' broke in Francesca, 'how we were all wild
to comb your hair? It led to furious quarrels every day. Fancy,
Andrea--at last it came to bloodshed! Oh, I shall never forget the scene
between Carlotta Fiordelise and Gabriella Vanni. It got to be sheer
monomania. To comb Maria Bandinelli's hair was the one ambition in life
of every school-girl there--big or little. The epidemic spread through
the whole school, and resulted in scoldings, punishments, and finally
threats to have your hair cut off. Do you remember, Maria? Our very
souls were enthralled by the magnificent black plait that hung like a
rope to your heels!'

Donna Maria smiled a mournful, dreamy smile. Her lips were slightly
parted, the upper one projecting the least little bit beyond the under
one; the corners of her mouth drooped plaintively, the soft curve losing
itself in shadow which gave her an expression both sad and kind, but
with a dash of that pride which reveals the moral elevation of those who
have suffered much and been strong.

To Andrea the story of these girls enamoured of a plait of hair,
enflamed with passion and jealousy, wild to pass a comb or their fingers
through the living treasure, seemed a charming and poetic episode of
convent life, and in his imagination, this woman with the sumptuous hair
becam