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Updated: May 9, 2025
But she was immeasurably relieved that Stefan's name was made, and that they were permanently lifted from the ranks of the needy. That very day, as if to illustrate their change of status, Mrs. Corriani puffed up the stairs with the news that the flat immediately below them had been abandoned over night.
Corriani wiping her last window pane. "I shall want your husband again for this floor," commanded the indefatigable Miss Mason, opening her tin of polish, "and his friend for errands." They fell upon their task. An hour later the spinster dropped into the rocking chair. "Well, we've done it," she said, "and I don't mind telling you I'm tuckered out."
A riverderci, Signora Corriani. Come, dearest." He bustled them all out, seized two suitcases in one hand and Mary's elbow in the other, chattered his few words of Italian to the janitress, chaffed Miss Mason, and had them all laughing by the time they reached the street. He seemed in the highest spirits, his moods of the last weeks forgotten.
The postman contributed several cards, and a tiny string of pink coral from Miss Mason. "How kind every one is!" Mary cried happily. In the afternoon the Corrianis were summoned. Mary had small presents for them and a glass of wine, which Stefan poured to the accompaniment of a song in his best Italian. This melted the somewhat sulky Corriani to smiles, and his wife to tears.
A moment later a rustling sounded through the transom, followed by the shrill whisper of Madame Corriani. Listening, she fell asleep. She was wakened by Stefan's arms round her. "A happy Christmas, darling! So wonderful the first Christmas I ever remember celebrating."
Corriani, priestess of family emergencies, had been summoned from the depths; the Sparrow had donned an apron, Mary a smock; Lily, the colored maid, was packing china into a barrel, surrounded by writhing seas of excelsior. For Stefan, the flat might as well have been given over to the Furies. He fetched his hat. "Mary," he said, "I'm not painting again until we have moved.
"What about the Farradays, and Constance, and the Sparrow and Lily and Henrik and McEwan and the Havens and Madame Corriani and " "Oh, stop!" she laughed, covering his mouth with her hand. "And even in Paris," he concluded, holding the hand, "Adolph, and yes, and Felicity Berber. Are they all 'prejudiced in your favor'?" "Why do you include the last named?" she asked, rather low.
The weather had turned cool, and Mr. Corriani brought them up their first scuttle of coal. They were glad to drink their morning coffee and eat their lunch before the fire, and Mary's little sable neck-piece, relic of former opulence, appeared in the evenings when they sought their dinner.
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