And, Gigia, whenever he comes, you can let him understand, you
know, that your mistress is in her own room,--resting after the
ball, you know. He's hand and glove with the Marchese."
"I wasn't born yesterday, Signor Quinto, though you seem to think
so," returned Gigia, as the old man began to descend the stairs.
Signor Quinto went to the cafe, and consumed his little cup of black
coffee, with its abominable potion of so-called "rhum" in it, and
the morsel of dry bread, which constituted his accustomed breakfast;
and then, as he was returning to his lodging, encountered the
"impresario" in the street.
"Well met, Signor Lalli!" cried little Signor Ercole, cheerily. "I
was on my way to your house to settle our little matters. I have not
seen you, I think, since Sunday night. The bustle of these last days
of the Carnival! How divinely she sang that night! If Bellini could
have heard her, it would have been the happiest day of his life."
"I am glad that you were contented, Signor Ercole."
"Contented! The whole city was enraptured. There never was such a
success. You have got that little memorandum of articles--?"
"No. I've got the paper signed at Milan; but not--"
"Stay, let me see. True, true. I remember now. It remained with the
Marchese. We shall want it, you know, just to put all in order.
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