“Signore,” she began at last, a little hesitatingly, “I suppose you are a learned man who has read many books.  Perhaps you know who that man is with the big helmet.  And the maiden there with the bare feet, standing between the men—­who is she?  She looks sad, I think, and yet the large man who seems to be waiting for her is well made and handsome, and his garments appear to be precious.  His shield is finely wrought, and I am sure he must be a man of great dignity.”

“You are right,” responded Cranbrook, to whom her guileless talk was highly entertaining.

“He is a king, and his name is Agamemnon.  By nationality he is a Greek—­”

“Ah, then I know why the girl is sad,” she interrupted, eagerly.  “The Greeks are all thieves, Padre Gregorio says; they all steal and lie, and they are not of the true faith.  The padre has been in the Greek land and he knows their bad ways.”

“The padre probably means the modern Greeks.  I know very little about them.  But the ancient Greeks were the noblest nation the world has ever seen.”

“Is it possible?  And what did they do that was so great and noble? Sanctissima! the greatest nation the world has ever seen!”

These exclamations were uttered in a tone of sincere surprise which to Cranbrook was very amusing.  The conversation was now fairly started.  The American told with much expenditure of eloquence the story of “the wrath of Achilles, the son of Peleus,” and of the dire misfortunes which fell upon the house of Priamus and Atreus in consequence of one woman’s fatal beauty.  The girl sat listening with a rapt, far-away expression; now and then a breeze of emotion flitted across her features and a tear glittered in her eye and coursed slowly down over her cheek.  Cranbrook, too, as he was gradually tuned into sympathy with his own tale, felt a strange, shuddering intoxication of happiness.  He did not perceive how the time slipped by; he began to shiver, and saw that the sun was gone.  The girl woke up with a start as his voice ceased and looked about her with a bewildered air.  They both rose and walked together through the long, empty halls and corridors.  He noticed wonderingly that she carried a heavy bunch of keys in her hand and locked each door after they had passed through it.  This then led to some personal explanations.  He learned that her name was Annunciata, and that she was the daughter of Antonio Caesarelli, the gardener of the villa, who lived in the house with the loggias which he could see at the end of the steep plane tree avenue.  If he would like to pick some oranges, there were plenty of them in the garden, and as the prince never asked for them, her father allowed her to eat as many as she liked.  Would he not come and see her father?  He was a very good and kind man.  At present he was trimming the hedge up on the terrace.