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She saw him too and made a sign with her
parasol for him to stop.
"Good-morning, Orsino," said the sweet deep voice.
"Good-morning, mother," he answered, as he descended hat in hand, and
kissed the gloved fingers she extended to him.
He could not help thinking, as he looked at her, that she was infinitely
more beautiful even now than Madame d'Aragona. As for Corona, it seemed
to her that there was no man on earth to compare with her eldest son,
except Giovanni himself, and there all comparison ceased. Their eyes met
affectionately and it would have been, hard to say which was the more
proud of the other, the son of his mother, or the mother of her son.
Nevertheless Orsino was in a hurry. Anticipating all questions he told
her in as few words as possible the nature of his errand, the object of
the tiger's skin, and the name of the lady who was sitting to Gouache.
"It is strange," said Corona. "I have never heard your father speak of
her."
"He has never heard of her either. He just told me so.


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