“I want a glass of Marsala. Shall you be home in time for dinner?”
“To be sure; pleasant dreams to you.”
He watched him depart with pity for an existence so poor in health and strength, useless alike to himself and others. But this Minister was insatiable. As if he knew anything about madder, or dried beans, or yellow gourds! Now it’s the turn of the cocoons! Andrea was beginning to weary: while the Prime Minister was engaged in conversation with the Prefect and the Member for Nola with that cadaverous face and ambiguous blond hair, he wouldn’t be likely to speak to him. Andrea would have liked to leave; he was getting bored with the official circle and the stupid march of inspection throughout the building. Besides, he suffered from the heat, and how cool it must be out there in the park! Yet he lingered, a victim of his ambition, in the hope that the Minister would speak to him at last.
“In the Grain section, I shall bolt, unless he sends for me before we get there,” said he to himself. They passed not only the grain, but the fodder. Andrea felt his anger rising as they passed through the Hall of the Oils, upon which the sun cast yellow rays. “I shall leave him at the Wines,” he thought; he was incensed and quite red in the face. But in the Wine section, in front of a pyramid of bottles, the Minister called out:
“Signor Lieti!”
“Your Excellency!”
“You are a brave worker in the common cause: here is some of your wine. Fine Italian wines should be cultivated, if only out of patriotism. We drink too much Bordeaux and Champagne; France intoxicates us.”
“Your Excellency....”
“The congratulations of the Government are due to you, as an influential citizen, who utilises his activity in this public service ... to which I add my personal compliments.”
Andrea bowed low, in mingled pride and shyness. He had had his share: the Minister was now flattering the Member for Cassino also on his wines. Besides, they had been all over the Exhibition; now they were about to inspect the cattle and poultry in the park.