Troico. Something like butter.
Leno. Then you may surely say, “Here Troy was.”
Troico. What do you mean, Leno?
Leno. For you it was given to me; for you Donna Timbria sent it, all stuck over with nuts;—but, as I have (and Heaven and everybody else knows it) a sort of natural relationship for whatever is good, my eyes watched and followed her just as a hawk follows chickens.
Troico. Followed whom, villain? Timbria?
Leno. Heaven forbid! But how nicely she sent it, all made up with butter and sugar!
Troico. And what was that?
Leno. The pancake, to be sure,—don’t you understand?
Troico. And who sent a pancake to me?
Leno. Why, Donna Timbria.