“There’s a couple of porters outside,” one of the hotel waiters announced.—Everybody became interested.—“Porters? So the gift had come in a cart?”—“And what then is the gift?”
They all rose and rushed out into the hall. There stood a magnificent double bed of inlaid wood, with complete furnishings. Biagio Speranza was annoyed.
“What a pity!” cried Carolinona, wringing her hands, sorry that a thousand francs should be so wasted.
But all the others applauded Cariolin’s magnificent idea. Cariolin himself was radiant. “Gentlemen, help me to set up this bed.”
Carolinona interposed, mortified, unhappy: “Where do you wish to put it, Signor Cariolin?”—“Where? In your room?”—“But it would not go in, pardon me. And besides, what do you think I could do with it?”—“Do you ask me?” cried Momo Cariolin.
These last words caused a fresh burst of applause and confused outcries. The pieces of the bed were taken by assault, and carried into Carolinona’s room. Her own bed was quickly pulled apart, and the new one, the nuptial couch, set up in its place.
She laughed, poor thing, at sight of these inexpert men laboring so hard, first at placing the mattress, then the first sheet, the second embroidered one, then putting the pillows in their slips, and finally covering the bed with a splendid silk cover. They were all perspiring. But where was Biagio Speranza? Oh, rascal! He had quietly stolen away.
IV
It was already evening. Carolinona, although tired after the tumultuous day, must spend several hours in putting the house in order. Finally, having dismissed the waiters and cook and sent her own servant to bed, she retired to her room. And the bed? Certainly she was not going to sleep in that new bed. She went and examined it closely, and first passed her hand gently over the pink silk coverlet; but against the soft, delicate, rose-colored material she suddenly noticed how dark her fat hand looked, disfigured by hard work, with short, rough nails, and instinctively she drew it back, murmuring anew: “What a pity!” She stooped down to examine the embroidery of the sheet, but no longer noticed the beauty of the bed; she was thinking of herself, thinking that if she had been pretty this ridiculous marriage would not have occurred; if she had been pretty she would have been married long ago. And yet, how many of her former friends, certainly not prettier than she, had married, and now had homes of their own, position, while she—as a joke—married, and no wife! “Fate!”
She started, looked around; saw in a corner, rolled up, the mattress of her bed, the iron framework leaning against the wall. She stood for a moment perplexed whether or not to call the servant to help her. What should she do? She moved toward the corner where stood the mattress, but passing before the mirror of her wardrobe, she caught sight of herself and paused. From the attentive examination of herself in the mirror there arose in her a lively dislike for the task of making up her bed. No, she would not do it! She would sleep in the armchair. So much the worse for her that at her age, to amuse others, she had lent herself to such folly, ridicule, mockery.