Lucia, the Organ-Maiden. 81

Naples, before hundreds of people. And wherever
she appeared, crowds of admirers applauded her.

Sometimes Paolo and she would go to some of
the villas in the neighborhood, where she danced
tirelessly, under trees laden with big yellow
oranges, and with flowers of all colors and kinds
growing about her.

One day they went to Pompeii and there, out-
side its ruined walls, Lucia danced for some
foreigners, in full sight of a big mountain out of
which smoke was coming forever, forever. Lucia
danced and Vesuvius smoked, each attending to
its own business. But whenever Lucia danced,
whether before strangers or dark-skinned Italians,
the result was the same—admiration. And Paolo
came to love the little creature almost as if she
were alive, and took the best care of her.

The window of her dancing-room, and the room
itself were spotless, the machinery well oiled, and
Paolo was always very careful to play her music
in good time, neither too fast nor too slow—in
dancing so much depends upon the music, you
know.