“Now, girls,” the Signora said, “don’t you give a penny to any one, unless I tell you. Here are twenty people on the watch for money. Don’t let any one do the smallest thing for you, except these five men. We will give them some bread and wine. That is all they will want. The Italian poor live on bread. What does that old man want of us?” she inquired of one of the donkey-men.
The old man, who had been constantly hovering near, came forward at once. He was the letter-carrier for the monastery.
“Oh! I did not know but you had something to do with the donkeys,” she remarked.
He came a step nearer. “I do not go up till evening,” he said with an insinuating smile.
“Go whenever you like,” she answered obligingly. “If you should bring us up any letters, however, we will give you a soldo for each one.”
He glanced longingly at the bread and wine, but she rose without taking any further notice of him.
“How much is your wine a bottle?” she asked of the pretty young vendor.
“Fifteen soldi, Signora,” was the innocent reply.
“Nonsense! I will give you five.”
Exclamations, deprecation, grieved reproach on the part of the young woman. The wine was too good for that, she protested. It was the best dry wine of the country, and sincere, as the Signora could see.