Then all at once her face fell.
"Good heavens, San Miniato carissimo," she cried, "you have forgotten
the red pepper! It is all over! I shall eat nothing! I shall die in this
place!"
"Pardon me, dearest Marchesa, I know your tastes. There is red pepper
and also Tabasco on the table. Observe--here and here."
The Marchesa's brow cleared.
"Forgive me, dear friend," she said. "I am so dependent on these little
things! You are an angel, a general and a man of heart."
"The man of your heart, I hope you mean to say," answered San Miniato,
looking at Beatrice.
"Of course--anything you like--you are delightful. But I am dropping
with fatigue. Let me sit down."
"You have forgotten nothing--not even the moon you promised me," said
Beatrice, gazing with clasped hands at the great yellow shield as it
slowly rose above the far south-eastern hills.
"I will never forget anything you ask me, Donna Beatrice," replied San
Miniato in a low voice. Something told him that in the face of all
nature's beauty, he must speak very simply, and he was right.
There is but one moment in the revolution of day and night which is more
beautiful than the rising of the full moon at sunset, and that is the
dawn on the water when the full moon is going down.
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