She did not seem surprised;
and, raising her hand, caressed the face bending over her, saying:
"Welcome, Noemi. _Magari fossi tu l'Intruse_," (Would that you were
_l'Intruse_.)
Noemi failed to understand.
"_Magari_," she said. "Is that Italian? It sounds like Arabic. Explain
at once, please."
Jeanne rose. "You would not understand any better if I did," she said
with a smile. "Shall we have our Italian conversation lesson now?"
"Yes, with pleasure," answered Noemi.
"Where did you go with my brother?"
"To the Hospital of St. John, to call on Memling."
"That's all right; let us talk about Memling. But first tell me whether
Carlino made you a declaration?"
The girl laughed. "Yes, he made me a declaration of war, and I did
likewise _to he_."
"To him, you should say. I wish he would fall in love with you," added
Jeanne seriously. The girl frowned.
"I do not," she said.
"Why? Is he not charming, brilliant, cultured, and distinguished? He is
very wealthy too, you know. We may despise riches, but after all they
are very good in their way.
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