Two or three peasants from the
country south had wandered up with the world to Rome, for Carnival time,
then for Lent. They had brought with them their pipes and zitterns.
In the mornings they made short pilgrimages, playing in front of the
shrines about the city, or roaming out on the campagna to some quiet
church. In the evening time they wandered up the stone stairways of the
great houses, and paused on the landings before the different homes. If
all was still they passed on, but if there was noise, laughter, sound of
voices, they laid aside their penitential manner, and struck into dance
music, flashing their velvety eyes, and striking pretty attitudes,
aided greatly by their Alpine hats and sheep-skins and scarlet-banded
stockings.
Three of these peasants had appeared at the padrona's doorway, by a sort
of magic. They bowed and smiled, and commenced to play. Every one sprang
up. "Dance," cried they all, and flew for their partners. Mae found
herself in the midst of the crowd, and having the most willing and
nimble of feet, she soon toned and coaxed the fashionable waltz on
which she had started into accord with the more elastic footsteps of her
companion.
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