“At a low price!” said Renzo; “gratis et amore.”
“Better still, better still.”
“But,” added he, “I do not wish these gentlemen to think evil of me. I have not stolen it—I found it on the ground; and if I could find the owner, I am ready to pay him.”
“Bravo, bravo!” cried they, laughing louder still, not imagining that he was in earnest.
“They think that I jest, but it is really so,” said Renzo to his guide, and turning the bread in his hand; “see how they have formed it—you would call it a cake, but they were so packed one on the other. If there were any with the crust a little tender, one might know they were fresh.” Then devouring three or four mouthfulls of the bread, he washed them down with another glass of wine, adding, “The bread will not go down alone—my throat was never so dry—a glorious uproar we made!”
“Prepare a good bed for this young man,” said the guide; “he is going to pass the night here.”
“Do you wish to sleep here?” said the host to Renzo, approaching the table.
“Certainly; I shall be content with any bed, provided the sheets are white; for although poor, I am accustomed to cleanliness.”
“Oh, as to that——” said the host. So saying, he went to his counter, which was in a corner of the kitchen, and returned, bringing in his hand paper, pen, and ink.
“What does this mean?” swallowing a piece of the stew which had been placed before him, and smiling with an air of surprise; “is that the white sheet?”