"Excellent official," said he. "Excellent rascal!" muttered the prefect between his teeth. Franco, who at first appeared to be thinking of something else, roused himself, and cast a contemptuous glance at Pasotti.
"After all," the Marchesa added, "it seems to me that, in the disguise of manuscript music, there might easily——"
"Certainly," said Paolin, who played the Austrian from fear while the mistress of the house was Austrian from conviction.
The Marchese, who in 1815 had broken his sword in two that he might not be obliged to serve the Austrians, smiled saying quietly: "La! C'est un peu fort!"
"But every one knows that the Ricevitore is a beast!" Franco exclaimed.
"I beg to differ with you, Don Franco," said Pasotti.
"Nonsense; beg to differ!" the other retorted. "He is a perfect beast!"
"He is a conscientious man," said the Marchesa, "an official who does his duty."
"Then his masters are the beasts!" Franco exclaimed.
"My dear Franco!" drawled the emotionless voice, "I will not tolerate such language in my house! Thank God we are not in Piedmont!" Pasotti grinned his approval. Then Franco, lifting his plate with both hands shivered it upon the table, with a furious blow. "Holy Mother!" gasped Viscontini, and Paolon, interrupted in the laborious operations of a toothless glutton, uttered an exclamation of alarm. "Yes, yes!" said Franco, rising, his face distorted, "I had better go!" And he left the room. Donna Eugenia at once turned faint, and had to be led away. All the ladies, except Signora Pasotti, followed her out at one door, while the footman entered at another, bearing a great risotto pie. Puria cast a triumphant glance at Pasotti, but Pasotti pretended not to notice. All had risen. Viscontini, the apparent culprit, kept repeating: "I can't make it out! I can't make it out!" and Paolin, much vexed at seeing the dinner thus interrupted, grumbled at him: "What business have you to try to make anything out?" The Marchese was frowning fiercely, but kept silent. At last Pasotti, the real culprit, assuming an air of affectionate sadness, said, as if speaking to himself: "What a pity! Poor Don Franco! A heart of gold, a good head, but such a disposition! It is indeed unfortunate."