“Is the Cavaliere at home?”
“No, but his lady is.”
“Announce me to the lady.”
Now all the domestics in the place knew perfectly well the meaning of a visit from Don Mario, and at most houses they would leave him to wait in the anteroom, or say to him without more ado—
“Give me the bottle, Don Mario.”
It often happened that while they were filling it for him he could not control himself at the sight of the disorder in the room where they left him. He would mount a chair in order to remove, with the end of his stick, the cobwebs clustering on the ceiling; and if he found a broom within reach of his hand—what was to be done? he could not resist!—he began to sweep the floor, to dust the pictures, or to pick up the scraps of paper or stuff scattered about.
“What are you doing, Don Mario?”
“The Lord has commanded us to be clean.... Thank the lady for me!”
Donna Rosa, who was amused with him and his ways, always had him shown up to the drawing-room, and asked him to sit down.
“How are you, dear Don Mario?”