[Gutenberg 28426] • The Italian Twins

CHAPTER ONE.

MORNING IN THE GRIFONI PALACE.

Near the banks of the river Arno, in an upper room of the beautiful old

palace of the Grifoni family, Beppina, the twelve-year-old daughter of

the Marchese, lay peacefully sleeping. In his own room across the hall

from hers, Beppo, her twin brother, slept also, though it was already

early dawn of Easter Saturday in the city of Florence, and both children

had meant to be up before the sun, that no hour of the precious holiday

should be lost in sleep.

It was the jingle of donkey bells and the sound of laughing voices in

the street below her windows that at last roused Beppina. Though it was

not yet light, the peasants were already pouring into the city from

outlying villages and farms, bringing their families in donkey-carts or

wagons drawn by sleek oxen, to enjoy the wonderful events which were to

take place in the city on that holy day.

Beppina opened her great dark eyes and sat up in bed to listen. "I'm

awake before Beppo," she whispered joyfully to herself. "I told him I

should be first. I wonder what time it is!"

As if in answer to her question a distant clock struck five. "Five

o'clock!" murmured Beppina, and, struggling to her knees in her great

carved bed, she dipped a dainty finger in the vase of holy water which

hung on the wall near by, and crossed herself devoutly. Then, folding

her hands, she murmured an Ave Maria before the image of the Virgin

which stood on the little table beside her bed. This duty done, she

slid to the floor, thrust her little white feet into a pair of blue felt

slippers, and her arms into the sleeves of a gay wrapper, then ran

across the room to the eastern windows.

As she pushed open the shutters, a gleam of sunshine flashed across the

room, lighting the dim frescoes on the high ceiling, and paling the

light of the little lamp which burned before the image of the Madonna.

A wandering breeze, fresh from the distant hills, blew in, making the

flame dance and flicker and flaunting a corner of the white counterpane

gayly in the air.

Beppina leaned her arms on the wide stone window-sill, and looked out

over Florence. The sun had just risen above the blue crest of the

Apennines, its level rays tipping the Campanile and the great dome of

the Cathedral with light, and turning eastern window-panes into flaming

beacons. The glowing colour of the sky was reflected in the waters of

the Arno, which flowed beneath its many bridges like a stream of molten

gold. Pigeons wheeled and circled above the roofs, and the air was

filled with gentle croonings and the whir of wings.