The princess looked up with an expression of inquiry in her
prominent blue eyes, as Sant' Ilario entered. She was stout,
florid, and not well dressed. Her yellow hair, already half gray,
for she was more than fifty years old, was of the unruly kind, and
had never looked neat even in her best days. Her bright, clear
complexion saved her, however, as it saves hundreds of middle-aged
Englishwomen, from that look of peculiar untidiness which belongs
to dark-skinned persons who take no trouble about their appearance
or personal adornment. In spite of thirty-three years of residence
in Rome, she spoke Italian with a foreign accent, though otherwise
correctly enough. But she was nevertheless a great lady, and no
one would have thought of doubting the fact. Fat, awkwardly
dressed, of no imposing stature, with unmanageable hair and
prominent teeth, she was not a person to be laughed at. She had
what many a beautiful woman lacks and envies--natural dignity of
character and manner, combined with a self-possession which is not
always found in exalted personages. That repose of manner which is
commonly believed to be the heirloom of noble birth is seen quite
as often in the low-born adventurer, who regards it as part of his
stock-in-trade; and there are many women, and men too, whose
position might be expected to place them beyond the reach of what
we call shyness, but who nevertheless suffer daily agonies of
social timidity and would rather face alone a charge of cavalry
than make a new acquaintance.
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