inquiry, and looked up at her with a hesitating expression. Hitherto she had prattled on without consciousness that she was making revelations, any more than when she said old things over and over again to Monna Lisa.
"Naldo said I was never to tell about that," she said, doubtfully. "Do you think he would not be angry if I told you?"
"It is right that you should tell me. Tell me everything," said Romola, looking at her with mild authority.
If the impression from Naldo's command had been much more recent than it was, the constraining effect of Romola's mysterious authority would have overcome it. But the sense that she was telling what she had never told before made her begin with a lowered voice.
"It was not in a church—it was at the Natività, when there was the fair, and all the people went overnight to see the Madonna in the Nunziata, and my mother was ill and couldn't go, and I took the bunch of cocoons for her; and then he came to me in the church and I heard him say, 'Tessa!' I knew him because he had taken care of me at the San Giovanni, and then we went into the Piazza where the fair was, and I had some berlingozzi, for I was hungry and he was very good to me; and at the end of the Piazza there was a holy father, and an altar like what they have at the processions outside the
