Adamo could not speak for staring at his mistress as she stood opposite to him full in the light. He had never seen such a look upon her face all the years he had served her.
She almost smiled at him.
"Adamo," the marchesa addresses him eagerly, "come here. How many years have you lived with me?"
Adamo grins and shows two rows of white teeth.
"Thirty years, padrona—I came when I was a little lad."
"Have I treated you well, Adamo?"
As she asks this question, the marchesa moves close to him.
"Have I ever complained," is Adamo's answer, "that the marchesa asks me?"
"You saved my life, Adamo, not long ago, from the fire." The eager look is growing intenser. "I have never thanked you. Adamo—"
"Padrona"—he is more and more amazed at her—"she must be going to die! Gesù mio! I wish she would swear at me," Adamo thought. "Padrona, don't thank me—Domine Dio did it."