Frate. I knew it! The most dangerous man living!
Assunta. Ah! indeed he is! Signor Padrone said so.
Frate. He knows him of old: he warned you, it seems.
Assunta. Me! He never said it was I who was in danger.
Frate. He might: it was his duty.
Assunta. Am I so fat? Lord! you may feel every rib. Girls who run about as I do, slip away from apoplexy.
Frate. Ho! ho! that is all, is it?
Assunta. And bad enough too! that such good-natured men should ever grow so bulky; and stand in danger, as Padrone said they both do, of such a seizure?
Frate. What? and art ready to cry about it? Old folks cannot die easier: and there are always plenty of younger to run quick enough for a confessor. But I must not trifle in this manner. It is my duty to set your feet in the right way: it is my bounden duty to report to Ser Giovanni all irregularities I know of, committed in his domicile. I could indeed, and would, remit a trifle, on hearing the worst. Tell me now, Assunta! tell me, you little angel! did you ... we all may, the very best of us may, and do ... sin, my sweet?
Assunta. You may be sure I did not: for whenever I sin I run into church directly, although it snows or thunders: else I never could see again Padrone’s face, or any one’s.