'Good-night; quiet sleep,' the glover ironically wished him. His words, countenance, and voice had all become cutting.
'So I wish you,' the medium answered darkly, lowering his eyelids to deaden the cruel flash of revenge that shone in his eyes.
'Good-night, good-night, Don Pasqualino,' Ninetto Costa muttered rather regretfully; his frivolous nature was so opposed to tragedy. 'We will soon meet each other again.'
'Of course,' the man of the spirits muttered with a slight grin.
'Good-night,' Michele the shoeblack ventured to remark. He was a keen accomplice in that gentlemanly plot, and thought it made a gentleman of him to be mixed up in it. 'Good-night; keep in good health.'
The medium did not answer him even. He scorned to cast a glance at the deformity, who belonged to the common folk he came from himself, out of whom he could never get any money.
'Pasqualino, do you intend to give these true numbers?' asked Colaneri, passing in front of him, still wild with rage.
'I cannot give them like this, being bullied into it.'
'You are joking. We are all your friends here,' squeaked the Professor. 'Do as you like. Good-night.'