“But, to make a short story of it,” resumed the archdeacon after some moments of anxious silence, “what did you come here for—eh?”
“We came to see whether it is time for the polpette.”
“The polpette are on the table; sit down, therefore, and eat.”
“Fair and softly,” exclaimed one of the guests a little later, giving Phœbus a tremendous nudge with his elbow.
“Blind man, you’re going too fast!” cried the archdeacon, looking at him.
“May I lose my sight if I have eaten more than two!”
“Two!—you’ve eaten a dozen!”
“The blind man has a good appetite! Well, there’s no harm—his teeth will stand it!” said Modesta, who was seated close by, counting the mouthfuls.
“Well then, Modesta, my dear,” said Phœbus, “when his reverence says, ‘Modesta, give the blind man a piece of bread and some meat, poor fellow!’ why do you give me nothing but little dry crusts and cheese-parings? Do you take me for a mouse, Modesta?”
“Blind man, blind man, you are never satisfied!”