“You have come from church,” said I.
“Già,” she assented; “from confession.”
“Really? And did you have a great many wickednesses to confess?”
“Oh, yes; many, many,” she answered, simply.
“And now have you got a heavy penance to perform?”
“No; only twenty aves. And I must turn my tongue seven times in my mouth before I speak, whenever I am angry.”
“Ah, then you are given to being angry? You have a bad temper?”
“Oh, dreadful, dreadful,” she cried, nodding her head.
It was my turn to laugh now. “Then I must be careful not to vex you.”
“Yes. But I will turn my tongue seven times before I speak, if you do,” she promised.