The Firebrand by Max Brand

Author:Max Brand [Brand, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Fiction
Publisher: Roy Glashan's Library
Published: 2019-12-25T23:00:00+00:00

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CHAPTER VII

IT was a day of heat and of showers; and the old beggar at last drew in under a projecting cornice which kept him dry. His withered face was full of both malice and patience, and his throat was sore from the whining pitch at which he had been singing out his appeals for mercy since that morning. He had in his purse enough to buy him a good cloak, and wine and meat and bread for half a month, but he was disappointed because he had not picked up enough for an entire month. Old Ugo, secure under the cornice, leaning on his staff, was about to step out into the street again in spite of a slight continuing of the rain, but here a sprightly young man with a sword at his side and his hat cocked jauntily at an angle paused suddenly beside him and said: “Father, have you lived a long time in Perugia?”

“I have existed here for a little course of years, some fifty or sixty,” said Ugo.

“If I describe a lady to you, shall you be able to tell me her name?”

“Try me,” said Ugo. “But first why not advertise your name?”

“Because she has never heard it.”

“She has not heard your name—but she will be glad to see you?”

“I hope so—I pray so—I earnestly believe so,” sighed the young Tizzo.

“Well,” said the beggar, “this is like something out of an old story. Perhaps love at first sight, love in passing, a look between you—and now you are hunting for her around the world. Describe her to me.”

“I describe to you,” said Tizzo, “a girl of about nineteen or twenty. She has eyes that are brown and big—gold in the brown like sunlight through forest shadows—and a sweet, pretty, perfect, delightful face—about so wide across the brow and with a smile that dimples, do you hear—”

“I hear,” said Ugo, smiling steeply down at the ground.

“A smile that dimples in the left cheek only. The left cheek, you understand?”

“Perfectly, signore.”

“Are you laughing at me?”

“I? By no means, signore. I was simply remembering certain things. Old men cannot help remembering, you know. Tell me more about her.”

“The top of her head comes to the bridge of my nose. Her nose, by the way, is not exactly a straight, ruled, stupid line. It is altered from that just a trifle. It is tipped up a shade at the end. Just at that slight angle which makes smiling most charming. Do you understand me?”

“Perfectly, signore.”

“Her complexion,” said Tizzo, frowning as he searched for the proper words, “is neither too pale nor too dark. A trifle pale now, because of a little trouble, but with radiance shining through. She is slightly made. Not thin, do you hear; slenderly made but rounded. In her step there is the lightness of a cat, the pride of a deer, the grace of a dancer.”

“Ah?” said the beggar.

“Do you recognize her?” asked Tizzo.

“Almost!” said the beggar. “Tell me a little more.”

And he kept on smiling down at the ground.

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