The soldier on guard at the gate watched her as she drew nearer.  She was a pleasing picture in her bright-colored gown against the glaring sun on the dusty white road.  Roderigo Vicello had only arrived that morning in Cellino, and Lucia was not the familiar little figure to him that she was to the other soldiers.  But she was none the less welcome for that, after the monotony of the day, and Roderigo as she came nearer straightened up self-consciously and tilted his black patent leather hat with its rakish cluster of cock feathers a little more to one side.

“Good day, Senorina,” he said smiling, as Lucia paused in the grateful shadow of the wall to catch her breath.

“Good day to you,” she replied good-naturedly.

“You’re new, aren’t you?  I never saw you before.  Where is Paolo?”

“Paolo and his regiment go up to the front this afternoon,” Roderigo replied.  “We have just come to relieve them for a short time, then we too will follow.”

Lucia nodded.  “You come from the south, don’t you?” she inquired, looking at him with frank admiration; “from near Napoli I should guess by your speech.”

Roderigo laughed.  “You guess right, I do, and now it is my turn to ask questions.  Where do you come from?”

“Down there about a mile,” Lucia pointed, “in the white cottage by the road.”

Roderigo looked at the dark hair and eyes and the gaudily colored dress before him, and shook his head.

“Now perhaps,” he admitted, “but you were born in the south where the sun really shines and the sky is blue and not a dull gray, or else where did you come by those eyes and those straight shoulders?”

Lucia looked up at the dazzling sky above her and laughed.

“And I suppose that spot is Napoli,” she teased.  “Well, you don’t guess as well as I do, for I was born here and I have lived here all my life.”

“‘All my life,’” Roderigo mimicked.  “How very long you make that sound, Senorina, and yet you look no older than my little sister.”

Lucia drew herself up to her full height and did not deign a direct reply.

“Fourteen years is a long time, Senor,” she said gravely, “when you have many worries.”

“But you are too young to have many worries,” Roderigo protested; “or I beg your pardon, perhaps you have some one up there?” he pointed to the north, where the high peaks of the Alps were visible at no great distance.

“No, not now,” Lucia replied; “for my father was killed a year ago.”

Roderigo was silent for a little, then he raised one shoulder in a characteristic shrug.

“War,” he said slowly.  “We all have our turn.”

Lucia nodded and returned almost at once to her gay mood.

“But you are still wondering how I got my black hair and eyes up here,” she laughed.

“Well, I will tell you.  My mother came from your beautiful Napoli, and Nana, that is my grandmother, says I inherited my foolish love of gay clothes from her.  Nana does not like gay clothes, but my father always liked me to wear them.”