“Guardami ben’! Ben’ son’, ben’ son’ Beatrice.”
Dante.
“Well, now, this is provoking!”
“What is the matter, wife?” And Abraham looked up from a bale of silk which he was packing.
“Why, here has Genta been and taken the fever; and there is not a soul but me to go and nurse her.”
“There is Esterote, her brother’s wife.”
“There isn’t! Esterote has her baby to look to. Dost thou expect her to carry infection to him?”
“What is to be done?” demanded Abraham, blankly. “Could not Pucella be had, or old Cuntessa?”
“Old Cuntessa is engaged as nurse for Rosia the wife of Bonamy the rich usurer, and Pucella would be no good,—she’s as frightened of the fever as a chicken, and she has never had it.”
“Well, thou hast had it.”
“I? Oh, I’m not frightened a bit—not of that. I am tremendously afraid of thee.”