'When they saw the stranger they stopped and bent again over the gorse. Stifled saucy laughter rippled under the yellow sea. Giorgio asked,-- '"Which of you is Favetta?" 'A girl, brown as an olive, raised her head in reply, amazed, almost terrified: "It is I, sir." '"Are you not the finest singer of San Vito?" '"No, sir. That is not true." '"It is true. It is true!" cried her companions. '"Sir! make her sing." '"No, sir, it is not true. I cannot sing." 'She hid herself, laughing, her face all aflame; she twisted her apron whilst the others teased her. She was of short stature but well-formed; her bosom was high and large, swollen with songs. She had curly hair, dark eyebrows, aquiline profile; something in her carriage wild and free. After the first resistance she yielded. 'The others, taking her by the arms, held her in their circle. They were up to their waists in the flowering gorse, whilst round them the bees were humming. 'Favetta began unsteadily, but with each note her voice grew firmer. It was limpid, liquid, crystal, clear as a water spring. She sang a couplet and the others sang in chorus a ritornello. They prolonged the harmonies, putting their mouths close to form one single vocal flute; the song rose and fell in the light air with the slow regularity of a litany. 'Favetta sang:-- '"All the springs are dry, O poor love of mine! He dies of thirst. Where is the water thou broughtest me? We have brought thee an earthen jar, But round it is a chain of gold!" 'The others sang:-- '"Long live Love!" 'It was the salutation of May to Passion, pouring from young breasts, which perchance as yet knew not its sweetness and perchance never would know its sorrow.' Or take the following passage which is as essentially true in its accurate observation as it is beautiful in its expression. Tullio Hermil and Giuliana are listening at Villa Lilla to the first songster of that spring. 'The nightingale sang. At first it was like a burst of melodious glee; a jet of easy trills which fell through the air like pearls falling on the glass of a harmonium. Then came a pause. A shake arose, agile, marvellously prolonged, like a proof of strength, in an impulse of insolence, a challenge to some unknown rivals.