Then Signora Peppina, taking advantage of the storm Franco and his friend were raising, risked a little private speech, which would have cost her dear had her Carlascia overheard it, but fortunately that faithful mastiff was asleep in his own bed, his night-cap drawn well down over his ears.
"I am so devoted to these dear flowers!" she began. It was her opinion the Maironis would do well to pet the Commissary a little. He was one of the Marchesa's intimates, and it would be awful if he should take it into his head to cause them trouble. He was a terrible man, this Commissary! "Now my Carlo barks a little, but he is a good creature; the other one doesn't bark, but—you understand?" She herself knew nothing about it, had not heard anything, but if, for example, that lawyer and the other gentleman had come for something else than music, and the Commissary should find it out——! Then the Lord have mercy on us!
The moon was dragging its splendour across the lake towards the western waters; the game had come to an end, and Signor Giacomo was preparing to light his little lantern, in spite of Pasotti's remonstrances. "A light, Scior Zacomo? You are mad! A light with such a moon!" "At your service," Puttini replied. "In the first place there is that accursed Pomodoro to cross, and then—cossa vorla—the moon nowadays! Besides I must tell you it is the August moon, for although we are in September, still the moon belongs to August. Well, once upon a time, my dear sirs, August moons were fine and big, as large as the bottom of a cask at least; now they are no better than moonlets, good-for-nothing moons——no, no, no." And his lantern lighted, he departed with Pasotti, the impertinent Pedraglio accompanying them as far as the gate of the little garden, with his usual fire of antiphones about the bull and the servant. Then the little man turned towards the cavernous streets of Oria, greatly comforted by Pasotti's exclamations: "Ill-bred people, Scior Zacomo! Vulgar people!" exclamations uttered in a tone calculated to reach the others, and add to their amusement.
A loud gape from the engineer put Signora Peppina to flight. A few minutes later, having drunk his cup of milk, Uncle Piero took leave of the company in verse—
Tall laurel trees and myrtle sweet upon Parnassus grow,
May night upon you, worthy Sirs, great happiness bestow.
The two guests also asked for a little milk, but Franco, who understood their Latin, went for an old bottle of the wine from the small but excellent vineyard of Mainé.
When he returned Uncle Piero was no longer present. The dark, bearded lawyer, the picture of strength and placidity, raised both hands silently, summoning Luisa and Franco, one to either side of him. Then he said softly, in his voice like a violoncello, warm and deep—
"Great news!"
"Ah!" ejaculated Franco, opening his eager eyes wide. Luisa turned pale, and clasped her hands in silence.