Marietta tasted the melon, and it was cool and aromatic, and she stood eating a slice of it, just where she could look through the flowers on the window-sill at the door of the glass-house, so that if Zorzi passed again she should see him.  He did not come, and she was a little disappointed; but the melon was very good, and afterwards she ate a few cherries and spread a spoonful of honey on a piece of bread, and nibbled at it; and she drank some of the water, looking out of the window over the glass.

“Was it always so beautiful?” she asked, speaking to herself, in a sort of wonder at what she felt, as she set the glass upon the table.

Nella, the maid, turned quickly to her with a look of inquiry.

“What?” she asked.  “What is beautiful?  The weather?  It is summer!  Of course it is fine.  Did you expect the north wind to-day, or rain from the southwest?”

Marietta laughed, sweet and low.  The little maid always amused her.  There was something cheerful in the queer little scolding sentences, spoken with a rising inflection on almost every word, musical and yet always seeming to protest gently against anything Marietta said.

“I know of something much more beautiful than the weather,” Nella added, seeing that she got no answer except a laugh.  “Do you wish to know what is more beautiful than a summer’s day?”

“Oh, I know the answer to that!” cried Marietta.  “You used to catch me in that way when I was a small girl.”

“Well, my little lady, what is the answer?  I have said nothing.”

“What is more beautiful than a summer’s day?  Why, two summer’s days, of course!  I was always dreadfully disappointed when you gave me that answer, for I expected something wonderful.”

Nella shook her head as she unfolded the fine linen things, and uttered a sort of little clucking sound, meant to show her disapproval of such childish jests.

“Tut, tut, tut!  We are grown up now!  Are we children?  No, we are a young lady, beautiful and serious!  Tut, tut, tut!  That you should remember the nonsense I used to talk to make you stop crying for your mother, blessed soul!  And I myself was so full of tears that a drop of water would have drowned me!  But all passes, praise be to God!”

“I hope not,” said Marietta, but so low that the woman did not hear.

“I will ask you a riddle,” continued Nella presently.

“Oh no!” laughed Marietta.  “I could no more guess a riddle to-day than I could give a dissertation on theology.  Riddles are for rainy days in winter, when we sit by the fire in the evening wishing it were morning again.  I know the great riddle at last—­I have found it out.  It is the most beautiful thing in the world.”

“Then it is true,” observed Nella, looking at her with satisfaction.

“What?” asked the young girl carelessly.

“That you are to be married.”

“I hope so,” answered Marietta.  “Some day, but there is time yet—­perhaps a very long time.”