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Updated: May 25, 2025
The driver's impotence first exploded in fury and threats: at least we should pay for the omnibus, for his time, for his trouble; yes, pay the whole way to Perugia and back, and his buon' mano besides.
"That is a splendid discovery," exclaimed Maria Louisa, with delight; "my little King of Rome, consequently, has a very respectable number of distinguished ancestors?" "More than fifty!" exclaimed her father, proudly. "Look here; this is the founder of the whole family, the Duca di Buon et Malaparte; he lived in the twelfth century."
It was there in their soft Buon giorno in the way they did not, as the gondola drew beside them, cover their fruitful breasts from her tender eyes, in the way most fall, they grasped in the high mood of the forestieri a sublimity untouched by the niceties of bargaining.
The next day, when their mended carriage had come up to fetch them, and they were just starting to drive away from the inn, the Conte's old servant appeared with the rose-cutting neatly wrapped up, and the compliments and wishes for a buon viaggio from her master. The town collected to see them depart, and the children ran after their carriage through the gate of the little city.
"Perhaps we shall see you to-morrow." She was just going to turn away when Ruffo bent down to kiss her hand. Since she had given charity to his mother it was evident that his feeling for her had changed. The Sicilian in him rose up to honor her like a Padrona. "Signora," he said, letting go her hand. "Benedicite e buon riposo."
"Buon giorno, Good-day to you," said a voice behind, in an accent slightly but unmistakably foreign, and a strange-looking figure presented itself at the stile.
"I should think so," cried the host, proudly; "I am a good patriot, and our watchword is, 'Chi non e buon Prussiano, non e buon Veneziano." "If that is so," cried the stranger, gayly, as he kindly offered the host his hand, "I congratulate myself for having stopped here, and these small, mean rooms will not prevent my remaining.
For in the midst of his life of agreeable employment, Il buon Rè Roberto had been suddenly called upon to mourn the loss of his only son, Robert, Duke of Calabria, who had been as remarkable for his accomplishments according to the writers of chronicles as for his goodness and love of justice.
"Good-night, Signora. Buon riposo." He moved towards the door. When he reached it he stopped and added: "I am going to bed, Signora." "Go. Sleep well." "Grazie, Signora. The Signorina is still outside, I am sure." "She goes out for a minute nearly every evening, Gaspare. She likes the air and to look at the sea." "Si, Signora; in a minute I shall go to bed. Buon riposo." And he went out.
But as they saw Gaspare's light figure leaping over the hill edge, his dancing eyes fixed shrewdly, with a sort of boyish scolding, upon them, their hands fell apart, their faces relaxed. "Gasparino!" said Maurice. "It was you who called!" "Si, signore." He came up to them. Maddalena's oval face had flushed, and she dropped the full lids over her black eyes as she said: "Buon giorno, Gaspare."
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