“That is no parsimonious Spaniard! He is a French cavalier. He will buy no gudgeons, but will have the right Roman fish.”
“Gentlemen,” said Gianettino, modestly casting down his eyes, “I do not understand your praises, and it seems to me I only deal like a man of honor, as every one of you would do! This honest man taxes his wares too low; I give him what they are worth! That is all. If I acted otherwise I should not long remain in the service of the lofty and generous Cardinal Bernis! Justice and generosity, that is the first command of his excellency!”
“Evviva the French ambassador!”
“Praise and honor to Cardinal Bernis!”
And while the people were thus shouting, Gianettino from his well-filled purse paid down the six-and-thirty ducats upon the fisherman’s board. He then commanded his six attendant scullions to bear off the fish.
It was, indeed, a heavy work to place the enormous animal upon their baskets, but the active Romans cheerfully lent a hand, and when they had succeeded in the difficult task, and the six youngsters bent under their heavy load, Signor Gianettino gravely put himself at the head of the train, and proudly gave the order: “Forward to the kitchen of his excellency Cardinal Bernis!”
At this moment a man was seen making his way through the crowd; thrusting right and left with his elbows, he incessantly pushed on, and, just as Signor Gianettino had fairly got his troop in motion, the man, who was no other than Don Bempo, succeeded in reaching the fisherman’s table.
“Here, I bring you the twenty ducats,” he proudly called out. “They will no longer say that the Spaniards buy gudgeons. The fish is mine! There are your twenty ducats!”
And, with a supercilious air, Don Bempo threw the money upon the table.
But just as proudly did the fisherman push back the money. “The fish is sold!” said he.