When I reminded him of the affectionate and loving names he constantly called me by, he always answered, “As for you, my dear better-half, you may feel quite sure there is nothing in common between your charming self and that odious stock.”
And truly I was often astonished myself that there was so obvious a difference, whether in the colour and shape of the face, whether in the disposition and temperament, the bearing and speech, or the mental faculties and the inclinations of the heart.
The contrast was especially striking between my generosity and the well-known avarice of the Chiappinis.
They were in constant torment from this passion; they were for ever exhorting me, urging me to ask for money, to demand ornaments, to go to shops to buy them whatever they wanted.
My humouring them, their own extravagances, and, even more, the insatiable claims of the charming Bussoti, soon exhausted the exchequer of milord, whose credulity let him be robbed of nearly his last farthing.
I don’t know what would have become of him if Mr. Price, his man of business, had not opportunely arrived.
This gentleman handed over some ready money to him, and prepared to return and send him back some larger sums.
There was waiting, and impatience, and counting of days and hours! At last the post brings a letter. My father goes to fetch it, breaks the seal, has it translated, and its contents are known before it reaches the person to whom it is addressed.
It announces the sending off of several trunks. Joyful news! Clapping of all hands!
But what a surprise! When the trunks, so longed for, were opened, nothing was to be seen but a heap of old rubbish that Mr. Price had doubtless got together from the wardrobes of milord’s grandmamas, and by which he had thought he might temporarily assuage the raging thirst of my greedy relatives.