‘Is there anything more?’ says the little man, at last, in a provokingly mild tone.
‘No, per Bacco, there is no more! Is not that enough?’ she mutters crossly.
‘But I have said no word as to whether you will have him or no!’
‘Eh, Holy Virgin! Say what you will! I care not! For the rest, so long as you make it fine, he will not understand much of what you mean, unless he is more of an ass than I take him for. Give here,’ she concludes, petulantly, ‘till I put my cross.’
And the letter is sanded once more, as Bianca pulls out her silken netted purse.
‘How much?’ demands she; ‘and are you sure the affair will lead to a good end?’
‘The Virgin will see to your right, child, but twenty soldi are not too much for this. I say it with a clean conscience!’
‘Dio! what a bold heart you have to rob a poor girl so! And if Signor Pietro does not come after all, and if I am forced to content myself with a peasant?’
‘Eh, anima mia, that will not be my fault!’
‘But it will be the fault of your letter! Oh, these men, when I could have written it so well myself! But I can tell you, you may keep your fine scrawl many a day before I give you a franc for it. Ten soldi, come!’