Cocco Bertolli, all of a tremor, drew down his loosely hanging vest, and said: “Very good. We will see about that. I merely wished to remind that good lady of a certain promise.”
“But pardon me, do you not understand,” Speranza tried to persuade him, “that the lady of whom you speak hoped, or rather was sure, that you—pardon me—that you were dying?”
“But I am not dead!” cried Cocco Bertolli, with fierce joy. “And I would have you understand that for her I have defied death!”
“Too bad!” exclaimed Biagio. “Too bad! Come now, if you will permit me to say so, do you really think that was worth while?”
“Ah, do you too know,” sneered Cocco Bertolli, “that your wife is a shameless woman?”
Biagio Speranza spread out his hands. “A stout woman, pardon, let us rather say a stout woman, so as not to offend her.”
“But I wish to offend her!” replied Cocco Bertolli, raising his arms, terrible in his wrath. “I wish to offend her before you, her worthy husband. Buffoon!”
Biagio Speranza paled, closed his eyes, then said mildly: “Listen, Cocco. Go away peaceably, or I will kick you out.”
“Me?”
“You. Or rather, see; I shut the door in your face to keep myself from kicking a poor madman, for you are nothing more than that.” And he closed the door.