“But it’s a spoon this time!”
“That’s a little too much!”
“Don’t you let it pass, Donna Cristina, don’t you let it pass!”
“Let it pass, or not let it pass!” burst forth Maria Bisaccia, who in spite of her placid and benign appearance, never let an opportunity pass for displaying her superiority over her fellow servants. “That is for us to decide, Donna Isabella, that is for us to decide!”
And the chatter continued to flow back and forth from windows to balcony. And the accusation spread from lip to lip throughout the whole countryside.
II
The following morning, Candia Marcanda already had her arms in a tubful of clothes, when the village constable, Biagio Pesce, nicknamed the Little Corporal, appeared at her door.
“His Honor, the mayor, wants you up at his office right away,” he told the laundress.
“What’s that?” demanded Candia, wrinkling her brows into a frown, yet without interrupting the task before her.
“His Honor, the mayor, wants you up at his office, right away.”