“You are right, signor,” said the stranger, advancing to Cicernachi and shaking hands with him. “Permit me to thank you in the name of my great and noble king whom you have this day defended in so original a manner from the malicious charges of his enemies. I give you my word of honor that the king shall hear of it through me; I know it will rejoice him.”
“Ah, signor,” said Montardo, laughing, “you forget that you are an honest merchant who does not concern himself about politics.”
“I can never forget I am a Prussian,” said the traveller; “and how could I forget it?” continued he, laughing. “My whole business consists of Prussian wares.”
“Truly you have some very beautiful articles,” said Montardo. “You will be charmed with them, Cicernachi; it will be another opportunity to annoy the Teresiani. Look at this merchant’s fans.”
The stranger opened several fans. Cicernachi’s eyes sparkled with delight at the sight of the painting. “How many have you, signor?” said he.
“Twelve.”
“I take them all, and regret you have not more.”
“But Cicernachi, where has all your wisdom gone to?” cried Montardo. “You have not even asked the price; or do you, perhaps, think the stranger gives them to you for nothing?”
“No, no; I forgot it,” said Cicernachi, gazing with delight at the fans which the stranger was spreading out before him. “What is their price, signor?”
The stranger was silent for a moment, and then said, in a hesitating manner: “I paid ten francs for each fan in Geneva.”