As Theobald entered
she looked up calmly, with a smile; but seeing me she made a movement of
surprise, and rose with a kind of stately grace. Theobald stepped
forward, took her hand and kissed it, with an indescribable air of
immemorial usage. As he bent his head she looked at me askance, and I
thought she blushed.
"Behold the Serafina!" said Theobald, frankly, waving me forward. "This
is a friend, and a lover of the arts," he added, introducing me. I
received a smile, a curtsey, and a request to be seated.
The most beautiful woman in Italy was a person of a generous Italian type
and of a great simplicity of demeanour. Seated again at her lamp, with
her embroidery, she seemed to have nothing whatever to say. Theobald,
bending towards her in a sort of Platonic ecstasy, asked her a dozen
paternally tender questions as to her health, her state of mind, her
occupations, and the progress of her embroidery, which he examined
minutely and summoned me to admire. It was some portion of an
ecclesiastical vestment--yellow satin wrought with an elaborate design of
silver and gold.
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