It was in a desolate London lodging-house that Marietta's courage gave
way. In Italy she could live and be merry on the most frugal fare. A
little polenta, a handful of grapes, and a piece of bread sufficed for a
good meal. Not so in London; nor were there grapes or polenta even if
she desired nothing else. The poor little heart needed nourishment
against the gloom and harass of the great dull city. So she laid her
head upon her brother's breast in a fit of despair and wept bitterly.
Marietta was seventeen. She had only arrived in England at the end of
November. It was now nigh upon Christmas. Her brother Rica had lived in
London over a year. He had been engaged by a great artist to sit to him
as a model, and to no other.
Rica had saved every penny, being content with the bare necessities of
life, so that Marietta might go and stay with him for a few months
before she commenced her novitiate, prior to taking the veil at the
convent where she had been educated. The nuns had adopted her when the
children became orphans, and as time passed she had grown to long for
the day which should make her one of the black-robed sisters of the
Visitation. Unfortunately, a little time after Marietta's arrival in
England, Rica's master had suddenly died, and the two children were left
friendless and almost penniless in the great city.
It was Christmas Eve. The snow lay thick upon the ground. There was
neither fire on the hearth nor bread in the cupboard, and the night was
bitterly cold.
Rica smoothed away the dark hair from his sister's face and tried to
comfort her. He could endure want and misery much better than she could.
The beautiful face had become delicately _spirituelle_ through the
rigour of privation.
"Dearest Marietta, I will go and beg some food for you; don't cry any
more."
"Oh, I shall die in this gloomy place! Take me back to the kind
sisters!" she moaned, giving way to hysterical sobs.
"Have patience, we shall return to Italy some day; but believe me, when
once winter goes, England is not such a dreadful country. In summer it
is beautiful, and the flowers compare well with those at home."
"Flowers! I don't believe there are any here, not at least in this cruel
city, with its yellow fogs and its sunless abodes."
Rica sighed deeply as he kissed her, and turned to go out into the snowy
night. It grieved him to see Marietta utterly broken down. She had
failed in her first trial. But then, she was so beautiful, she ought to
have been a princess instead of the daughter of a poor fisherman. It was
all a mistake.