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Updated: June 25, 2025
The tax gatherer whose tiny office was just inside the gate came to know the little gentleman very well, and although he could speak no English he would bob his grizzled head and murmur: "Buon giorno, signore!" as the stranger passed out on his daily stroll. One afternoon Mr.
"Messer Gastaldo," said the secretary suavely, "it hath pleased those who have ever the welfare of Venice at heart to provide for the most noble Lady of the Giustiniani an escort which better fitteth her rank than the size of thy barchetta permitteth, and a dwelling more honorable than the 'Osteria del Buon Pesce, where, in company of the Lady Beata Tagliapietra, she hath passed the night."
He caught no glimpse of the Duchessa. Yet he took no steps to get his boxes packed. And then Marietta fell ill. One morning, when she came into his room, to bring his tea, and to open the Venetian blinds that shaded his windows, she failed to salute him with her customary brisk "Buon giorno, Signorino." Noticing which, and wondering, he, from his pillow, called out, "Buon' giorno, Marietta."
With no heart chosen yet from the world of woman's love, he was still a young man, with hopes and affections as pliable as a boy's. He had, in a word, that reputation of good-fellow which in Venice gives a man the title of buon diavolo, but on which he does not anywhere turn his back with impunity, either from his own consciousness or from public opinion.
Then nothing would do but Luisa must admire his fine plumage, and his father must declare that he was quite the finest pigeon he had ever seen. It took the combined force of the family to consider what message they should send old Paolo in the morning, and, after a great deal of discussion, Giovanni's stiff old hand penned the simple words on a bit of paper: "Buon giorno!"
I recalled my name to him; his face cleared and he smiled. "Ah! buon giorno, eccellenza!" he cried. "A thousand pardons that I did not at first know you! Often have I thought of you! often have I heard your name ah! what a name! Rich, great, generous! ah! what a glad life!
The faintest suspicion of a blush tinged her pretty cheeks. "Oh, he is very good, Vincenzo," she said, demurely, with downcast eyes; "he is what we call buon' amico, yes, indeed! But he is often glad when I make coffee for him also; he likes it so much! He says I do it so well! But perhaps the eccellenza will prefer Vincenzo?" I laughed.
I felt his great liberal heart heaving, thump, thump, under the lapel of the old rusty coat; but I breathed my spirit into his face, and he said no more as he turned away than just a formal "Buon giorno, Signora." "Silence is best," I whispered.
Barto undertook to lead a troop against the Buon Consiglio barracks, while Angelo and Rinaldo cleared the ramparts. It chanced, whether from treachery or extra-vigilance was unknown, that the troops paid domiciliary visits an hour before the intended outbreak, and the three were left to accomplish their task alone.
They were little fellows, nearly all, and none of them had been in school more than a year and a half, while some had been there only three or four months. They rose up with "Buon giorno, signori," as we entered, and could hardly be persuaded to lapse back to the duties of life during our stay. They had very good faces, indeed, for the most part, and even the vicious had intellectual brightness.
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