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Her nose was relatively small, but too thick and broad at the nostrils, although it departed but little from the straight line of the classic model. Altogether the Signora Pandolfi, christened Maria Luisa, and wife to Marzio the silver-chiseller, was a portly and pompous-looking person, who wore an air of knowing her position, and of being sure to maintain it.
The other persons in the room held their breath. The young girl blushed deeply under her white skin, and Gianbattista grew pale as he laid aside his pencil and shaded his eyes with his hands. The Signora Pandolfi panted with excitement and trembled visibly as she looked at her husband.
He pictured to himself his wife and daughter listening respectfully to his harangues and beginning to practise his principles, Gianbattista, an eloquent member of the society in the inner room of the old inn, reformed, purged from his sneaking fondness for Paolo since Paolo would not be in the world any longer and ultimately married to Lucia, the father of children who should all be baptized in the name of Reason, and the worthy successor of himself, Marzio Pandolfi.
He will have thought differently of it this morning;" "On the contrary," put in the Signora Pandolfi, "he waked me up at daylight and gave me a quantity of money to go and buy Lucia's outfit.
The Signora Pandolfi explained as well as she could, frequently giving way to her grief in passionate sobs. She was incoherent, but the facts were so simple that Marzio understood them. He was standing by the table, his hand resting upon the wooden case he had brought, and his face was very pale. "Let me understand," he said at last. "Tista was on the ladder.
"I imagine that you did not count upon the canonry as a means of pleasing him," remarked the Signora, Pandolfi, with a smile. "No, indeed," laughed Lucia. "Poor papa he would rather see you sent to be a curate in Civit
I fell down like a sack of flour pata tunfate!" "T-t-t-t!" exclaimed the Signora Pandolfi, holding up her hands and drawing in her breath as she clacked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "T-t-t-t! What a pity!" "And when I came to my senses I had fainted, you understand I was sitting on the old straw chair and papa was holding my hands in his and calling me his angel! Capperi!
"And Tista says he will not go back at any price," put in Don Paolo. The Signora Pandolfi gasped for breath. "Oh! oh! I shall faint!" she sobbed, pressing the handle of her parasol against her breast with both hands. "Oh, what shall we do? We are lost! Paolo, your arm I shall die!" "Courage, courage, Maria Luisa," said the priest kindly. "We will find a remedy.
It sufficed him that Lucia Pandolfi was at present a very pretty girl, even beautiful, according to some standards.
If they fail to obtain the position they seek in Europe, their failure will have been due to their inordinate vanity and over-governing, if I may coin the word, rather than to an innate want of intelligence. The qualities and defects of the Italian nation all existed in the Pandolfi family.
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