“If I were his Holiness,” pursued Maria, “I would reward the inventor by a plenary indulgence. Seat yourself, my dear, I am dying with desire to see you.”
“No! I am going.”
“Where do you wish to go?—no one loves you better than we do here.”
“What am I to do when people love me? What can I do since Don Frederico is not here?”
“What is that? You only come here then for Don Frederico, little ingrate?”
“Why not? why should I come? to find myself with Momo?”
“Then you love Don Frederico much?” hazarded the good old woman.
“I love him; and if it were not for him I would never put foot inside these doors, for fear of encountering that demon Momo, whose tongue resembles the sting of a wasp.”
“And Ramon Perez?” mischievously demanded Maria, as if she would convince Don Modesto that his protégé might give up his hopes.
Marisalada burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.