“Joy!”
“Ah! is it not fine? To go back to Italy!”
“Si; fine.” She paused a moment pensively, then asked, “Have you bought the passage tickets?”
“No; she has not paid me yet for the bust.”
“Who has not paid you?”
“Signorina Di Bello.”
“How do you know she will give you any money?”
“Ah! I saw it in her eye. And did she not say, when I spoke of my poor marble—did she not say that perhaps it would not prove so poor, after all? Oh, she will pay, I am sure. How much? Ah! who can tell that? But surely it will be enough to take us back to Cardinali, and what more can we ask? There we shall be happy. No more shall you go to the mill, for have I not my house and workshop, and will not Genoa be glad again to buy my ten-inch Saint Peters?”
“Ah! si. Genoa will be glad. And I? Shall I not take them to the Gallery of Cristoforo Colombo and sell them just as old Daniello did? By my faith, I think I shall bring home as much silver as ever he did, and more.”
“Si, si; who would not buy of you, angelo d’amore?”