Excited by this talk, the Marquis di Formosa went into the lottery-shop again. Now, before the pale, flabby Don Checchino's grill, leaning her elbow on the counter, Carmela, the cigar-girl, using the ten francs Donna Concetta gave her for her earrings, was saying her numbers, faintly, with pauses, playing three or four popular tickets.
'Six and twenty-two—put half a franc on that; eight, thirteen, and eighty-four—two sous for the ambo of it, eight sous for the terno; then eight and ninety, on the ambo another four sous.'
She stopped now and then, as if other sad thoughts distracted her; a flush coloured her delicate cheeks. When Don Checchino made up the account, four francs forty centimes, she took out a roll of copper money and began to count slowly.
'Hurry up! hurry up!' an impatient woman's voice cried out.
She turned round and recognised the woman, an old servant, Donna Rosa, she that served in the house where her unfortunate sister lived. They spoke in a whisper.
'Oh, Donna Rosa, and how is Filomena?'
'She is well; but she is in distress. She sent me to play this number—three girls are playing it, rather, as there has been a wound given, unluckily.'
'Oh, Jesus! God bless her, poor sister! And you—where do you come from?'
'I live in Chianche Road, and I am going home.'
'Greet her for me,' Carmela whispered eagerly.