“It is a horse of the same color. Both came out of darkest Africa, whose shadows fall across the broad earth.”
I take back every word I ever said against missionaries!
Poisoning, like other sins, has two degrees, the mortal and the venial. If M. de Gooch is in no danger from the mortal, we, according to Nena and Pompilia, were in danger of the venial not so long ago. During a short absence of Pompilia’s we had a foreign cook, and parted with her not on the best terms. The day after she left Pompilia returned, coming to me in the course of the morning with a long list of groceries; those staples, farina, Parmegiano, and caffé, headed the memorandum.
“But we cannot have used up five kilos of coffee. It is impossible that we are out of flour and Parmesan cheese; we bought them only three days ago.”
You see I am getting on, I now manage—though it is highly disapproved of by the powers that be—to lay in a few groceries, which I buy at the Unione Militare—government stores like the Army and Navy Stores in London.
“When I returned this morning, there was not a crumb in the house,” said Pompilia. Nena was appealed to.
“Nena, what about the Parmegiano, the farina, and the caffé you bought the other day?”
“Signora, I was obliged to throw them all into the immondezza (garbage).”
“But why?”
“Signora! I say nothing. That black Tedesca, when she left, did not wish us others well, nor even your signorial selves. I did what I did for the best.” She looked at Pompilia for confirmation. The cook shook her handsome head.