The mountain rivers were dry, and their beds made
yawning gaps as though the earth had violently shuddered at her own
desolation.
At last, about noon, they came to the village of Vencata Minore, which
stood in a little plain of green. The house of Donna Marcella was set on
a slight eminence and, compared with the surrounding habitations, was
quite pretentious. It was kalsomined white, had a courtyard of its own,
and back of it was a little fruit and flower garden. Donna Marcella was
a buxom, thrifty, and dominating woman. Had she been a man she would
assuredly have migrated to America and become a captain of industry;
however, circumstances having placed her under heavier responsibilities,
she came smiling to the door, followed by a troop of brown-skinned and
curly-haired babies. She courtesied and beamed and gesticulated her
delighted welcome of the strangers and, upon being shown the
archbishop's missive, kissed the red seal. A few words were intelligible
to her, but the reading of a whole letter was beyond the measure of her
accomplishments, and she looked to Padre Filippo to explain. She could
write the few nouns and do sums quite well enough, though, to make out
the bills for her occasional guests,--if in doubt she added another
figure.
Sometimes she had guests--ah, but illustrious! The Gran Signore, Sua
Eccellenza il Duca di Scorpa--that name to be whispered, and yet to be
dwelt upon--no less a personage than such an exaltedness had come to
sleep a night under her humble roof! The distinguished _forestieri_
should have the very room His _Eccellentissimo_ had occupied! She seemed
to choose among the Americans by instinct, assigning to Derby and Porter
this apartment in which she took such evident pride.
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