‘Now the _she_ is “bella,” with many hairs running in billows like waves on the shore of the lake, only not white-topped, and her face is like unto a violet and a star. Yet also is she like unto something that springs swiftly and far, or unto that which waves its wings in the sunlight, making many colours, and floats past like the twinkling of an eyebrow. Also have I seen in shops figures of porcelain of a delicate transparence, so that a man can look at things through them, that are greatly like her; so it seems also the _he_ finds her, for whenever she points and bids him to be looking at the things around, he regards straightly and without winking at her eyeballs, or--so often as _I_ am observing at her _eyelashes_, which she then, it seems, wears long upon her cheeks. ‘Ai! I have seen one or two fairer amongst my own race; but never amongst these strangers, wearing nets on their faces, with blue looking-glasses for their eyes, and very thick garments of a sad colour. ‘And so on and on past the great Mother, Nicolas drawing with a good stomach to where rises the long hill to San Felice, and ever comes clearer the great chime, it being now the second pulling of it. ‘Then the _he_--mad, as I have said--descends and marches with me, patting my Nicolas and saying, “Good, good, how old?” With that he regards his teeth. Now I know well what I must be saying, when one of these regards where once were Nicolas’ teeth, and says, “How old?” For I am of great intelligence and have learnt it by stomach,--so “_Eightee_” I say. “What?” says the _he_, and his eyes grow of a roundness, then he laughs and wheels his toes to the she, and says something of a great wit, and both laugh again. Then a curious thing passes, for the she says, “Ah! Eight_ine_! but _impossible_!” and like to a shot gun rolls from the chariot moving, and both run and look at Nicolas’ knees, and again at his teeth. Do they think then that he eats his knees? ‘Then again both say Eightine! but _impossible_! and I say Eightine, _si, si_! and nod myself so that they shall not think small of Nicolas, or that he is too young a horse and fiery, as I was of a fear they might. Yet they wag their tops very often and as I think, sadly, and the _she_ looks at Nicolas softly and timidly, and smites him very gently, and they walk up all that great hill--both--even “_la bella_.” ‘But then it is all same thing, they are English and mad; who knows what is in them? ‘Now am I thirsty again; but at the end we have become in San Felice, and after much questioning of the peoples walking in the streets--who know nothing--I find at the end the place where they wish to drink, the bells being quite at hand, and very full of noise. ‘So I leave them for mine own drinking. Yet they do not hurry to their drinking, but go slowly, and as it were without eagerness, looking at each other, and the “bella’s” eyes shine like two stars in a heaven of violets.