George Eliot

Romola George Eliot

After Bratti had joined the knot of talkers, the young stranger, hopeless of learning whatwas the cause of the general agitation, and not much caring to know what was probably oflittle interest to any but born Florentines, soon became tired of waiting for Bratti's escort;and chose to stroll round the piazza, looking out for some vendor of eatables who mighthappen to have less than the average curiosity about public news. But as if at thesuggestion of a sudden thought, he thrust his hand into a purse or wallet that hung at hiswaist, and explored it again and again with a look of frustration."Not an obolus, by Jupiter!" he murmured, in a language which was not Tuscan or evenItalian. "I thought I had one poor piece left. I must get my breakfast for love, then!"He had not gone many steps farther before it seemed likely that he had found a quarter ofthe market where that medium of exchange might not be rejected. In a corner, away from any group of talkers, two mules were standing, well adorned withred tassels and collars. One of them carried wooden milk-vessels, the other a pair ofpanniers filled with herbs and salads. Resting her elbow on the neck of the mule thatcarried the milk, there leaned a young girl, apparently not more than sixteen, with a redhood surrounding her face, which was all the more baby-like in its prettiness from theentire concealment of her hair. The poor child, perhaps, was weary after her labour in themorning twilight in preparation for her walk to market from some castello three or fourmiles off, for she seemed to have gone to sleep in that half-standing, half-leaning posture. Nevertheless, our stranger had no compunction in awaking her; but the means he chosewere so gentle, that it seemed to the damsel in her dream as if a little sprig of thyme hadtouched her lips while she was stooping to gather the herbs. The dream was broken, however, for she opened her blue baby-eyes, and started up with astonishment andconfusion to see the young stranger standing close before her. She heard him speaking toher in a voice which seemed so strange and soft, that even if she had been more collectedshe would have taken it for granted that he said something hopelessly unintelligible to her, and her first movement was to turn her head a little away, and lift up a corner of her greenserge mantle as a screen. He repeated his words-"Forgive me, pretty one, for awaking you. I'm dying with hunger, and the scent of milkmakes breakfast seem more desirable than ever