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Updated: June 20, 2025
By this simple device Angioletto was enabled to keep his word, and Bellaroba to find him black but comely. While Angioletto and his Bellaroba dwelt in a paradise, none the less glorious for being as sooty as the darkness which veiled it, the estate of Captain Mosca, that hungry swordsman, was most unhappy.
We will sit together here. 'The name she goes by with those who know her is Bellaroba. Bellaroba, indeed! Well 'I am very sure that you will have no reason to regret my excellent choice on your behalf; and it is the more timely because I learn from Fazio that one of your women has fallen sick of the small-pox' and so on. The Count is occasionally sublime.
What do you think?" "I think as you think, Angioletto," said Bellaroba, and held him closer. "Let us go then. I know the way very well."
Time pressed; it was evident the Countess's service was urgent. Yet the Captain swore by all that he held sacred to be sure no great things, but Bellaroba could not know that to deliver her message to the lad with his own hand.
By six of the evening Mosca, seeing Olimpia's house still keep a dead face, threw off the last remnant of his cares and bade himself be merry. "My handsome friend is either asleep or on a journey, it appears," said he to himself. "That, on the whole, is well. I cannot think she would be pleased at the advent of little Bellaroba riding pillion to me.
So she was led away. He helped her on to the mule in no time, showed her how she must hold him round the middle, how closely and how constantly; he explained how little there was to fear, for all that such a manner of going was as venturesome to her as a steamer would have seemed to Ulysses, that great captain. "H'm," thought the wise Olimpia, "I pray that Bellaroba may be careful."
The shiver swept lightly through the company like a wind in the reeds, and ran wider and wider till it stirred the farthest edge of the field. All eyes were upon the prisoners. Borso's blinked from below his shaggy brows, young Teofilo Calcagnini's were misty, Angioletto's hard and bright. Bellaroba had been motionless throughout, except when her lips moved to speak; she was motionless now.
Well, Miss Bellaroba, where's your hand?" She held it out. "Here, sir." "What a little one! Well, put it on your heart. Now, how does it feel?" "It jumps, my lord." "Does it burn you, child?" "No, my lord; it's quite cold." "Stand down, Bellaroba. Castaneve, come forward."
From the moment of their setting out, he and Bellaroba had wagged tongues in concert, and before they had made a dozen miles each knew the other's story to the roots. Angioletto's was no great matter. The Capuchins at Borgo had taught him his rudiments, his voice had taken him into the choir, his manners into the sacristy.
"I can see that you are pleased at this, my dear," Angioletto said, looking at her. They were head for head level, these children. "But what would Olimpia say?" Bellaroba paused for strength to tell the painful truth. "She would say 'Fiddlesticks, Angioletto." Angioletto frowned. "Ah! what is to be done?" he asked.
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