“Because I’m his wife.”
“Oh!” A long pause during which I collapsed upon my straw seat, and swallowed macaroni thoughtfully. As the result of my meditations—“Valeria carissima.”
“Hush! Yes.”
“Can’t you get me out of this infernal den?”
“Perhaps, if they all three sleep in the kitchen; at present one is awake. Watch for my signal, and if they all three sleep, I will manage to slip the bolt. Then you must give me time to get back into bed, and when you hear me snore you may make the attempt. They are all three sleeping on the floor, so be very careful where you tread; I will also leave the front door a little open, so that you can slip through without noise.”
“Dearest Valeria!”
“Hush! Yes.”
“Hand me that cane—it is my fishing-rod, you know—through this hole; you can leave
the sketch-book and paint-box under the tree that the donkey fell against,—I will call for them some day soon. And, Valeria, don’t you think we could make our lips meet through this beastly hole?”
“Impossible. There’s my hand; heavens! Croppo would murder me if he knew. Now keep quiet till I give the signal. Oh, do let go my hand!”