“Oh yes—so much!”
“Ah, I saw you were frightened. It was Violante, not Zerlina, that I was looking at.”
“Yes, that’s the worst of it.”
“The worst of it?”
“I never act enough, they say. I can only sing.”
“Well, what more would anyone have? You sing like an angel. And Violante is much better worth looking at than Zerlina, any day.”
“Ah,” said Violante, more brightly, “but you would not think so if you were Signor Rubini.”
“What—Masetto—shouldn’t I?”
“He said,” continued Violante, with penitence, “that he would rather act with a wax-doll, and—and that I show off my own voice and do not think of his. But I cannot help it, indeed.”
“What an insolent scoundrel! You shall—why do you ever act with him again?”