“Your cook will give her something.”
“My cook!” laughed Zabetta. “My cook is here before you.”
“Well, you must be a kind mistress. You must give your cook an evening out.”
“But my poor cat?”
“Your cat can catch a mouse.”
“There are no mice in our house. She has frightened them all away.”
“Then she can wait. A little fast will be good for her soul.”
Zabetta laughed, and I said, “Andiamo!”
At the restaurant we climbed to the first floor, and they gave us a table near the window, whence we could look out over the villa to the sea beyond. The sun was sinking, and the sky was gay with rainbow tints, like mother-of-pearl.
Zabetta’s face shone joyfully. “This is only the second time in my life that I have dined in a restaurant,” she told me. “And the other time was very long ago, when I was quite young. And it wasn’t nearly so grand a restaurant as this, either.”