It was not a large place, and struck one as being overcrowded
because so many of the plants were taller than a man's head.
Uncle John turned down one path which, after several curves and turns,
came to an abrupt ending beneath the spreading branches of an acacia
tree which had been converted into a bower by a thick, climbing vine,
whose matted leaves and purple blossoms effectually screened off the
garden beyond.
While he stood gazing around him to find a way out without retracing his
steps, a clear voice within a few feet of him caused him to start. The
voice spoke in vehement Italian, and came from the other side of the
screen of vines. It was sharp and garrulous in tone, and although Uncle
John did not understand the words he recognized their dominating accent.
The Duke replied, slowly and sullenly, and whatever he said had the
effect of rousing the first speaker to fierce anger.
The American became curious. He found a place where the leaves were
thinner than elsewhere, and carefully pressing them apart looked through
the opening. Beyond was a clear space, well shaded and furnished with
comfortable settles, tables and chairs. It adjoined a wing of the
dwelling, which stood but a few paces away and was evidently occupied by
the women of the household. The old Duchessa, her face still like a
death mask but her eyes glittering with the brightness of a serpent's,
sat enthroned within a large chair in the center of a family group.
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