'And where are those earlier gods?'
'Around us still; they are the unknown forces, the unalterable fates, that rule us then as now. What matter whether I called you Luna, or Cupra, or Hera, or Juno, or Musa; you would be yourself always, and always beautiful, as your marsh-lilies are that glow in gold upon the swamp.'
For the first time in all her seventeen years of life her face grew warm with a quick blush.
'I am not handsome,' she said, quickly. 'They call me Musoncella, the ugly face, always on the shore. If you want what is handsome you should see Giano's Mariannina; she has hair like the scales of the gold and red mullet.'
'I do not want Giano's Mariannina!' he said, with a soft intonation that escaped her.
'Well, she would be of no use here,' she answered him literally. 'She thinks of nothing all day but "gilding" her hair in the sun and getting bits of coral.'
Then she devoted her care to the meat broth she was setting on the wood fire in a bronze bowl; his heavy eyes watched her as she bent over the ruddy gleam from the crackling heather.
