Costa placed a basket containing ten packets of sweets, upon the table.
“I will distribute them,” said I, “when everybody is here.”
On this, Momolo’s second daughter told me that Mariuccia and her mother were not coming, but that they would send them the sweets.
“Why are they not coming?”
“They had a quarrel yesterday,” said the father, “and Mariuccia, who was in the right, went away saying that she would never come here again.”
“You ungrateful girls!” said I, to my host’s daughters, “don’t you know that it is to her that you owe your winnings, for she gave me the number twenty-seven, which I should never have thought of. Quick! think of some way to make her come, or I will go away and take all the sweets with me.”
“You are quite right,” said Momolo.
The mortified girls looked at one another and begged their father to fetch her.
“Ira,” said he, “that won’t do; you made her say that she would never come here again, and you must make up the quarrel.”
They held a short consultation, and then, asking Costa to go with them, they went to fetch her.