"Now, Mosca, your lie," said the Count, with his cold-steel delivery. Mosca did not stumble.
"Master," he said, "I can do you service."
"Do it then," whipped in the Count.
"I can tell your Excellence why he succeeds no better with La Bellaroba."
"Ah!" The Count was suspicious, but interested.
"The little lady has a lover."
"Body of a dog!"
"Body of Angioletto, Excellence."
"Angioletto? That spaniel? How many more laps will he cradle in? Cut his tongue out, my good fellow, and then come to me again."
"Excellence, may I speak?"