‘I am sure it is. But won’t you leave them here for a time? Why should they not stay here altogether? It would be much more healthy for them than in the cold window-ledge, and you can come in and attend to them whenever you please.’ ‘It would be very troublesome for you?’ said Fulvia, who, however, flushed with pleasure. ‘Not in the least. I am such a selfish person that I should not offer it if I did not think I should like it. See; we will put them here, on this empty table near the window. There they will be quite happy. Listen; he is beginning a little song even now.’ Indeed, the bird was trilling a low song of thanks and pleasure on feeling the good effect of the warmth and food. ‘And now,’ added Minna, rapidly and eagerly pursuing her real object, ‘you will stay with me a little while, while I have some tea. I am English, you know. I must always have my cup of tea at this hour. Do you ever drink it?’ ‘I have drunk it,’ said Fulvia; ‘and in any case I am at your disposal, signora.’ ‘Then here. Sit in this armchair. You look tired. You should not be tired--a girl like you,’ said Minna playfully, as she laid her hand for a moment on Fulvia’s shoulder, and tried to smile into the beautiful forlorn face. ‘I am not tired,’ replied Fulvia at once, rather proudly. ‘I am never tired. I am very young and very strong. But my head feels tired sometimes,’ she added inconsistently. Minna went about the room, having cast off her wraps and hat, and she prepared the tea with the spirit-lamp and things she always had in readiness. Fulvia watched her, and gradually her curious, rigid attitude somewhat relaxed. A look of repose came over her face, which had been so hard and set. She leaned back in the easy-chair in an attitude of languor which seemed to say that it was long since she had thus unbent. Presently the tea was ready. Fulvia had accepted a cup of it, but very much diluted, crying out with unfeigned horror at the strength of the beverage offered to her by Minna. ‘Signora, why do you ask me to sit with you?’ she presently demanded. ‘Because I love to have young people and young things, happy things, about me.’ ‘But you are very happy yourself. You look so,’ said Fulvia, in curious, abrupt little sentences. ‘Yes, my child. I am very happy. I do not know why I should be so happy, and have a life so free from grief and care as mine is, but I am very grateful for it.’ ‘But have you ever been sad?’ ‘Very--once in my life. Sadder than you can imagine.’ ‘I don’t think so,’ said Fulvia quickly. Then she added: ‘But, of course, I am happy too. At least, I ought to be; for I am to have, it seems, everything that I like best.’ ‘I wonder what you do like best?’ asked Minna with a smile.