'By the by--the Ferentino announces another charity bazaar for
Epiphany,' said the Baroness d'Isola. 'Does anybody know anything about
it yet?'
'I am one of the patronesses,' said Elena Muti.
'And you are a most valuable patroness,' broke in Don Filippo del Monte,
a man of about forty, almost bald, a keen sharpener of epigrams, whose
face seemed a sort of Socratic mask; the right eye was forever on the
move, and flashed with a thousand changing expressions, while the left
remained stationary and glazed behind the single eye-glass, as if he
used the one for expressing himself and the other for seeing. 'At the
May bazaar, you brought in a perfect shower of gold.'
'Oh, the May bazaar--what a mad affair that was!' exclaimed the
Marchesa.
While the servants were filling the glasses with iced champagne, she
added, 'Do you remember, Elena, our stalls were close together?'
'Five louis d'or a drink--five louis d'or a bite!' Don Filippo called,
in the voice of a street-hawker. Elena and the Marchesa burst out
laughing.
'Why yes, of course, Filippo, you cried the wares,' said Donna
Francesca. 'Now what a pity you were not there, _cugino mio_! For five
louis you might have eaten fruit out of which I had had the first bite,
and have drunk champagne out of the hollow of Elena's hands for five
more.'
'How scandalous!' broke in the Baroness d'Isola, with a horrified
grimace.
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