Marta held her breath. Would Guiseppe, who had led her such a hard life for years, permit this child to look boldly into his face and command him to do her bidding? Would he suddenly burst into a rage and rain blows upon her?
To her relief she saw a half–concealed smile on his lips as he took from his pocket a handful of money. He counted out a few pieces and laid them on the table.
"Marta, buy the minx stuff for a dress—and shoes, too, I suppose. We can't have her toes sticking out as they are now," he said.
"And stockings?" asked Marta with a courage she could never have summoned had she been asking for money for herself.
"She'll do without them," Guiseppe replied grimly. "If her feet are covered she'll get along. I'll go alone with the Punchinellos this morning. This afternoon I'll keep my promise and take the child to the Toledo, although why she's so crazy to go there is more than I know."
Taking up his Punchinello box, he left the room.
Pappina danced about, radiantly happy over the prospect of a new frock.
"You'll let me go with you, won't you, Marta? I want so to go, and if there's money enough. Marta—dear, good Marta—may I have some of that stuff that smells like flowers? I smelt it on those foreign ladies when they took out their handkerchiefs at the Marina."
"There'll be only enough for the dress and the shoes to–day, carina." Marta was sorry to deny the child.
Pappina took the woman's hand.