She came down with us as far as the cab.
“Addio, eccellenza, e mille grazie.”
“Addio, Lucia, and thanks to you.” At the turn of the road we looked back and saw the strong, bent little woman leaning against the wall, waiting to guide the next forestieri who might turn up.
“Is it true what Lucia tells us about her daughter?” I asked Ercole.
“Who knows? these old women gossip to amuse strangers. There is a new story for every day in the week. We must not believe everything that we hear.”
Was Ercole jealous, too?
The next time I saw Olivetta she began to chatter about Lucia.
“She told you about her daughter? Yes? It is quite true. The girl caught the fancy of a rich milord, and he married her. One thing I am sure Lucia did not tell you. Her son-in-law has bought her a nice cottage, the best house in Fontana, he gives her a handsome income; truly, Lucia is rich, but she is avaricious. I ask you, does she not look like a beggar? That is all a comedy; she has good clothes and shoes. Truly, I should not be surprised if, when she dies, we should find that Lucia is the richest woman in Ischia; it is a shame that she should ask money from the strangers.”
“Perhaps it is not the money so much as the occupation Lucia likes,” I suggested.
“Ma ché, she is robbing others who would gladly take her place. There is the excellent Orlando, he is my relation. Poor man, he is lame and cannot work. As long as Lucia remains there is no chance for another guide; è fina quella donna (she is a sharp one, that woman). Ask the colonello,—he can tell you all about Lucia and her daughter.”