"_Bon soir_," she said, in a soft, harmonious voice, oddly in contrast with her stout and malformed person. She talked on in French while Arduina hurried to relieve her of her hat and handbag. "I am pleased to see you back, Monsieur Venutelli. I received your letter. This is your bride? She is charming!" Antonio bowed, and Regina looked at her with wondering eyes, saying shyly-- "You are very kind, Signora." "Beg pardon?" said Madame, turning her left ear to Regina, who nearly laughed, remembering Antonio's mimicry of the deaf Princess. But Signora Makuline had taken her hand, and was slipping a sapphire ring on one of its fingers, saying-- "You will allow me? With a thousand good wishes!" "Oh, thank you! You are really too good!" cried Regina, delighted, and Antonio also looked at the ring and expressed thanks. Then they all sat down; the Princess removed her dirty white gloves, and, to Regina's surprise, displayed hands small as a child's, and covered with flashing rings. "What shocking weather," said Madame, her small feline eyes not looking at any one. "I've been many years in Rome, but never remember an autumn like this. It's not manners to talk of the weather; but when it becomes a matter of health, the weather has certainly more influence over us than even the most important events of our lives!" "Monsieur Antonio, this abominable storm will spoil your honeymoon," said Arduina, trying to joke; but Regina, rather offended, muttered some words of protest. "Beg pardon?" said the Princess. "Arduina is right," said Antonio; "my wife is, in point of fact, in the very worst of humours." "_N'est ce pas?_ In the worst possible humour!" "It's not true!" protested Regina, "quite the contrary; I am extremely cheerful." However, Madame was tiresome enough to observe that during dinner Regina spoke very little. "I like to be silent! I like listening," explained the bride, rather shortly. "Well," said the Princess, "there's a certain _cachet_ about a young woman who doesn't talk. A woman's silence suggests something mysterious, something occult; even something charming. Georges Sand spoke little. One of my uncles was her intimate friend, and he told me Georges was designedly silent." "Perhaps you yourself knew Georges Sand?" said Massimo ungallantly. "No," replied Madame, unmoved. "Her mother, perhaps?" murmured Antonio. "Beg pardon?" "I've been reading an article on Georges Sand's mother," said Antonio louder. "Most interesting! She was a woman of fiery genius, and of fiery heart, too, whose adventures no doubt influenced her daughter's imagination." "Where did you see that article?" cried Arduina; "we'll reproduce it!" Sor Mario, bending low over his plate, shook his head, and emitted a perhaps unintentional grunt. Tedious talk followed of the adventures and romances of Georges Sand. Arduina declared that the novels were uninteresting. She liked modern books, and _Quo Vadis?_ above all others.