about them. Here she drew them into a narrow entrance and, leading them up two flights of dirty stairs, knocked at a door. It was opened by a slatternly woman, who gave a shrill cry of astonishment when she saw the group on her threshold.
The monkey evidently knew her, for he leaped from Giovanni’s arms to her shoulder and began to pull her hair.
“Santa Maria! Santa Maria!” screamed the woman. “If it is not that devil of a Carina come back again! Let go of my hair, you demon, or I’ll wring your black neck!”
Carlotta laughed, and picked the monkey off of Giovanni’s mother just as she had picked Beppo off of her son a few moments before.
The children, left to themselves, stared about at their new quarters, while Giovanni stared at them. The room was large, bare, dilapidated, and dirty. On the floor were some old mattresses filled with corn-husks, which were evidently used as beds. There was a wooden table with some soiled dishes standing on it, and, beyond this and a few chairs, there was no furniture except two pots of geraniums on the window-sill. A door opened into a smaller room beyond, and through it they could see a stove, with a kettle standing on the floor beside it.
Giovanni had evidently made up his mind that any one who could “lick” him must indeed be a hero, for, having finished his critical survey of the Twins, he said affably, “My father is a gondolier. What’s yours?”
“A Marchese,” said Beppo.
“Holy Madonna!” gasped the boy. “Doesn’t he do any work?”
“No,” said Beppo. “He just goes to Rome to help the King.”
Carlotta overheard them. “Don’t you ever say that again, you wicked little liar!” she cried fiercely. “If you do, I’ll cut off your tongue.” She turned again to the other woman.