Peter was walking in the high-road, on the other side of the
river--the great high-road that leads from Bergamo to Milan.
It was late in the afternoon, and already, in the west, the sky
was beginning to put on some of its sunset splendours. In the
east, framed to Peter's vision by parallel lines of poplars, it
hung like a curtain of dark-blue velvet.
Peter sat on the grass, by the roadside, in the shadow of a
hedge--a rose-bush hedge, of course--and lighted a cigarette.
Far down the long white road, against the blue velvet sky,
between the poplars, two little spots of black, two small human
figures, were moving towards him.
Half absently, he let his eyes accompany them.
As they carne nearer, they defined themselves as a boy and a
girl. Nearer still, he saw that they were ragged and dusty and
barefoot.
The boy had three or four gaudy-hued wicker baskets slung over
his shoulder.
Vaguely, tacitly, Peter supposed that they would be the
children of some of the peasants of the countryside, on their
way home from the village.
As they arrived abreast of him, they paid him the usual
peasants' salute. The boy lifted a tattered felt hat from his
head, the girl bobbed a courtesy, and "Buona sera, Eccellenza,"
they said in concert, without, however, pausing in their march.
Peter put his hand in his pocket.
"Here, little girl," he called.
The little girl glanced at him, doubting.
"Come here," he said.
Her face a question, she came up to him; and he gave her a few
coppers.
"To buy sweetmeats," he said.
"A thousand thanks; Excellency," said she, bobbing another
courtesy.
"A thousand thanks, Excellency," said the boy, from his
distance, again lifting his rag of a hat.
And they trudged on.
But Peter looked after them--and his heart smote him. They
were clearly of the poorest of the poor. He thought of Hansel
and Gretel. Why had he given them so little? He called to
them to stop.
The little girl came running back.
Peter rose to meet her.
"You may as well buy some ribbons too," he said, and gave her a
couple of lire.
She looked at the money with surprise--even with an appearance
of hesitation. Plainly, it was a sum, in her eyes.
"It's all right. Now run along," said Peter.
"A thousand thanks, Excellency," said she, with a third
courtesy, and rejoined her brother . . . .
"Where are they going?" asked a voice.
Peter faced about.
There stood the Duchessa, in a bicycling costume, her bicycle
beside her. Her bicycling costume was of blue serge, and she
wore a jaunty sailor-hat with a blue ribbon. Peter (in spite
of the commotion in his breast) was able to remember that this
was the first time he had seen her in anything but white.