"
Odo, abashed by her rebuke and the abate's apology, had drawn his heels
together in a rustic version of the low bow with which the children of
that day were taught to approach their parents.
"Holy Virgin!" said his mother with a laugh, "I perceive they have no
dancing-master at Pontesordo. Cavaliere, you may kiss my hand.
So--that's better; we shall make a gentleman of you yet. But what makes
your face so wet? Ah, crying, to be sure. Mother of God! as for crying,
there's enough to cry about." She put the child aside and turned to the
preceptor. "The Duke refuses to pay," she said with a shrug of despair.
"Good heavens!" lamented the abate, raising his hands. "And Don Lelio?"
he faltered.
She shrugged again, impatiently. "As great a gambler as my husband.
They're all alike, abate: six times since last Easter has the bill been
sent to me for that trifle of a turquoise buckle he made such a to-do
about giving me." She rose and began to pace the room in disorder. "I'm
a ruined woman," she cried, "and it's a disgrace for the Duke to refuse
me."
The abate raised an admonishing finger. "Excellency...excellency..."
She glanced over her shoulder.
"Eh? You're right. Everything is heard here. But who's to pay for my
mourning the saints alone know! I sent an express this morning to my
father, but you know my brothers bleed him like leeches. I could have
got this easily enough from the Duke a year ago--it's his marriage has
made him so stiff.
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