"Do you think I am a vain fool, sir, to be amused by a woman's praise?
Nonsense! Go yourself."
"By all means," answered Giovanni. He was used to his father's habit of being quarrelsome over trifles, and he was much too happy to take any notice of it now.
"You are tired," he continued. "I am sure you have a right to be. You must want to go to bed."
"To bed indeed!" growled the old man. "Tired! You think I am good for nothing; I know you do. You look upon me as a doting old cripple. I tell you, boy, I can—"
"For heaven's sake, padre mio, do precisely as you are inclined. I never said—"
"Never said what? Why are you always quarrelling with me?" roared his father, who had not lost his temper for two days, and missed his favourite exercise.
"What day shall we fix upon?" asked Giovanni, unmoved.
"Day! Any day. What do I care? Oh!—well, since you speak of it, you might say a week from Sunday. To-day is Friday. But I do not care in the least."
"Very well—if Corona can get ready."
"She shall be ready—she must be ready!" answered the old gentleman, in a tone of conviction. "Why should she not be ready, I would like to know?"