“Yes, come by all means; they’ll just do for you!” said the archdeacon, giving a glance at the dish.
“Are they made of meat or potatoes?” asked the Franciscan, with another great pinch of snuff.
“Of meat, of meat,” said Modesta testily.
“Yes, there’s just enough meat to swear by!” said Phœbus.
“Even though there were but a piece the size of a pin’s head,” said the friar as he took another pinch, “that would be enough! To-morrow, you know, archdeacon, it’s a black vigil.”
“The friar is right! Do you want to go to hell for eating polpette to-morrow! Persicomele! there’ll be no more polpette now till next year,—so good-bye, my fine fellow! Modesta, light the syndic to the door. Don’t you see that he has put on his cloak, and wants to go? Good-night, sir!”
“Good-night, archdeacon!” said the syndic, and then turned to whisper in his ear, “By-the-bye, the chaplain always stands up for all bad characters ... and his niece....”
“Why, whatever has the chaplain done to you? Modesta, light these other people out!”
“Never mind me, I can see in the dark!” replied Phœbus, going towards the door. “Modestina, dear, don’t you bother yourself with the light; you’re using up too much oil; you should be saving with it, Modestina!”
“What are you thinking of, poor blind man?—such a trifle as that!” cried Modesta. “Good gracious! we’re all of us baptised Christians, and a little light costs nothing.”