102 IN A WINTER CITY.
loggia, a beautiful vaulted and frescoed open gal¬
lery, designed by Bramante, and warm in the
noonday sun, as though January were June.
A king could not have had more grace of
welcome and dignity of com-tesy than this ruined
gentleman—he had a very perfect manner, cer¬
tainly, thought Lady Hilda once again. She was
one of those women (they are many) upon whom
manner makes more impression than mind or
morals. Why should it not? It is the charm
of Ufe and the touchstone of breeding.
There was only one friend with him, a gi'eat
minister, who had retfred from the world and
given himseK up to the culture of roses and
strawberries. There was a simple repast, from
the produce of his own lands, ready in what had
been once the banqueting haU. It was made
graceful by the old Venetian glass, the old
Urbino plates, the old CeUini salt-ceUars; and
by grapes, regina and salamana, saved from the
autumn, and bouquets of Parma violets and
Bengal roses, in old blue Savona vases. It
was a frugal meal, but fit for the Tale-teUers of