“I suppose you will not mind having our friend for a neighbor?” he said to Lucrezia.
“No,” said she; “but we will be discreet, for the flower of our lives has withered.”
“I shall believe as much of that as I please.”
The worthy man dearly loved a joke.
The long table was laid for five, and as soon as dinner was served an old priest came in and sat down. He spoke to nobody, and nobody spoke to him.
The pretty page stood behind the marchioness, and we were waited on by ten or twelve servants.
I had only a little soup at dinner, so I ate like an ogre, for I was very hungry, and the marquis’s French cook was a thorough artist.
The marquis exclaimed with delight as I devoured one dish after another. He told me that the only fault in his wife that she was a very poor eater like her mother. At dessert the wine began to take effect, and our conversation, which was conducted in French, became somewhat free. The old priest took no notice, as he only understood Italian, and he finally left us after saying the ‘agimus’.
The marquis told me that this ecclesiastic had been a confessor to the palace for the last twenty years, but had never confessed anybody. He warned me to take care what I said before him if I spoke Italian, but he did not know a word of French.
Mirth was the order of the day, and I kept the company at table till an hour after midnight.