"Then you will allow me to believe that you do not hate me."
"Hate you? What an ugly word! If I hated you, should I see you at all? But let's talk of something else. I want you to do me a favour. Here are two sequins; I want you to put them on an 'ambe' in the lottery. You can bring me the ticket when you call again, or still better, you can send it me, but don't tell anybody."
"You shall have the ticket without fail, but why should I not bring it?"
"Because, perhaps, you are tired of coming to see me."
"Do I look like that? If so I am very unfortunate. But what numbers will you have?"
"Three and forty; you gave them me yourself."
"How did I give them you?"
"You put your hand three times on the board, and took up forty sequins each time. I am superstitious, and you will laugh at me, I daresay, but it seems to me that you must have come to Milan to make me happy."
"Now you make me happy indeed. You say you are superstitious, but if these numbers don't win you mustn't draw the conclusion that I don't love you; that would be a dreadful fallacy."
"I am not superstitious as all that, nor so vile a logician."