'Ah, Mary, I like that! And did you not sell cigarettes that you lighted
up first yourself for a louis?' cried Francesca through her laughter.
Then she became suddenly grave. 'Every deed, with a charitable object in
view, is sacred,' she observed sententiously. 'By merely biting into
fruit, I collected at least two hundred louis.'
'And you?' Andrea Sperelli turned to Elena with as constrained
smile--'With your human drinking-cup--how much did you get?'
'I?--oh, two hundred and seventy louis.'
Everybody was full of fun and laughter, excepting the Marchese
d'Ateleta, who was old, and afflicted with incurable deafness; was
padded and painted--in a word, artificial from head to foot. He was very
like one of the figures one sees at a wax work show. From time to
time--usually the wrong one--he would give vent to a little dry cackling
laugh, like the rattle of some rusty mechanism inside him.
'However,' Elena resumed, 'you must know, that after a certain point in
the evening, the price rose to ten louis, and at last, that lunatic of a
Galeazzo Secinaro came and offered me a five hundred lire note, if I
would dry my hands on his great golden beard!'
As was ever the case at the d'Ateletas', the dinner increased in
splendour towards the end; for the true luxury of the table is shown in
the dessert. A multitude of choice and exquisite things, delighting the
eye no less than the palate, were disposed with consummate art in
various crystal and silver-mounted dishes.
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