When seven consecutive sneezes of Mastro Peppe De Sieri, called La Brevetta, resounded loudly in the square of the City Hall, all the inhabitants of Pescara would seat themselves around their tables and begin their meal. Soon after the bell would strike twelve, and simultaneously, the people would become very hilarious.

For many years La Brevetta had given this joyful signal to the people daily, and the fame of his marvellous sneezing spread through all the country around, and also through the adjoining countries. His memory still lives in the minds of the people, for he originated a proverb which will endure for many years to come.

I

Mastro Peppe La Brevetta was a plebeian, somewhat corpulent, thick-set, and clumsy; his face shining with a prosperous stupidity, his eyes reminded one of the eyes of a sucking calf, while his hands and feet were of extraordinary dimensions. His nose was long and fleshy, his jaw-bones very strong and mobile, and when undergoing a fit of sneezing, he looked like one of those sea-lions whose fat bodies, as sailors relate, tremble all over like a jelly-pudding.

Like the sea-lions, too, he was possessed of a slow and lazy motion, their ridiculously awkward attitudes, and their exceeding fondness for sleep. He could not pass from the shade to the sun, nor from the sun to the shade without an irrepressible impulse of air rushing through his mouth and nostrils. The noise produced, especially in quiet spots, could be heard at a great distance, and as it occurred at regular intervals, it came to be a sort of time-piece for the citizens of the town.

In his youth Mastro Peppe had kept a macaroni shop, and among the strings of dough, the monotonous noise of the mills and wheels, in the mildness of the flour-dusty air, he had grown to a placid stupidity. Having reached maturity, he had married a certain Donna Pelagia of the Commune of Castelli, and abandoning his early trade, he had since that time dealt in terra cotta and Majolica ware,—vases, plates, pitchers, and all the poor earthenware which the craftsmen of Castelli manufactured for adorning the tables of the land of Abruzzi. Among the simplicity and religiousness of those shapes, unchanged for centuries, he lived in a very simple way, sneezing all the time, and as his wife was a miserly creature, little by little her avaricious spirit had communicated itself to him, until he had grown into her penurious and miserly ways.

Now Mastro Peppe was the owner of a piece of land and a small farm house, situated upon the right bank of the river, just at the spot where the current of the river, turning, forms a sort of greenish amphitheatre. The soil being well irrigated, produced very abundantly, not only grapes and cereals, but especially large quantities of vegetables. The harvests increased, and each year Mastro Peppe’s pig grew fat, feasting under an oak tree which dropped its wealth of acorns for his delectation. Each year, in the month of January, La Brevetta, with his wife, would go over to his farm, and invoke the favour of San Antonio to assist in the killing and salting of the pig.

One year it happened that his wife was somewhat ill, and La Brevetta went alone to the slaughtering of the beast. The pig was placed upon a large board and held there by three sturdy farm-hands, while his throat was cut with a sharp knife. The grunting and squealing of the hog resounded through the solitude, usually broken only by the murmuring of the stream, then suddenly the sounds grew less, and were lost in the gurgling of warm vermilion blood which was disgorged from the gaping wound, and while the body was giving its last convulsive jerks, the new sun was absorbing from the river the moisture in the form of a silvery mist. With a sort of joyous ferocity La Brevetta watched Lepruccio burn with a hot iron the deep eyes of the pig, and rejoiced to hear the boards creak under the weight of the animal, thinking of the plentiful supply of lard and the prospective hams.

The murdered beast was lifted up and suspended from a hook, shaped like a rustic pitchfork, and left there, hanging head downward. Burning bundles of reeds were used by the farm-hands to singe off the bristles, and the flames rose almost invisible in the greater light of the sun. At length, La Brevetta began to scrape with a shining blade the blackened surface of the animal’s body, while one of the assistants poured boiling water over it. Gradually the skin became clean, and showed rosy-tinted as it hung steaming in the sun. Lepruccio, whose face was the wrinkled and unctuous face of an old man, and in whose ears hung rings, stood biting his lips during the performance, working his body up and down, and bending upon his knees. The work being completed, Mastro Peppe ordered the farm-hands to put the pig under cover. Never in his life had he seen so large a bulk of flesh from one pig, and he regretted that his wife was not there to rejoice with him because of it.

Since it was late in the afternoon, Matteo Puriello and Biagio Quaglia, two friends, were returning from the home of Don Bergamino Camplone, a priest who had gone into business.

These two cronies were living a gay life, given to dissipation, fond of any kind of fun, very free in giving advice, and as they had heard of the killing of the pig, and of the absence of Pelagia, hoping to meet with some pleasing adventure, they came over to tantalise La Brevetta. Matteo Puriello, commonly called Ciavola, was a man of about forty, a poacher, tall and slender, with blond hair and a yellow tinted skin, with a stiff and bristling moustache. His head was like that of a gilded wooden effigy, from which the gilding had partly worn off. His eyes round and restless, like those of a race-horse, shone like two new silver coins, and his whole person, usually clad in a suit of earth colour, reminded one, in its attitudes and movements and its swinging gait, of a hunting dog catching hares as he ran across the plain.

Biagio Quaglia, so-called Ristabilito, was under medium height, a few years younger than his friend, with a rubicund face, of the brilliancy and freshness of an almond tree in springtime. He possessed the singular faculty of moving his ears and the skin of his forehead independently, and with the skin of the cranium, as does a monkey. By some unexplained contraction of muscles, he was in this way enabled greatly to change his aspect, and this, together with a happy vocal power of imitation, and the gift of quickly catching the ridiculous side of men and things, gave him the power to imitate in gesture and in word the, different groups of Pescara, so that he was greatly in demand as an entertainer. In this happy, parasitical mode of life, by playing the guitar at festivals and baptismal ceremonies, he was prospering. His eyes shone like those of a ferret, his head was covered with a sort of woolly hair like the down on the body of a fat, plucked goose before it is broiled.

When La Brevetta saw the two friends, he greeted them gently, saying:

“What wind brings you here?”

After exchanging pleasant greetings, La Brevetta took the two friends into the room where, upon the table, lay his wonderful pig, and asked:

“What do you think of such a pig? Eh? What do you think about it?”

The two friends were contemplating the pig in wondering silence, and Ristabilito made a curious noise by beating his palate with his tongue.

Ciavola asked:

“And what do you expect to do with it?”

“I expect to salt it,” answered La Brevetta, his voice full of gluttonous joy at the thought of the future delights of the palate.

“You expect to salt it?” cried Ristabilito. “You wish to salt it? Ciavola, have you ever seen a more foolish man than this one? To allow such an opportunity to escape!”

Stupefied, La Brevetta was looking with his calf-like eyes first at one and then at the other of his interlocutors.

“Donna Pelagia has always made you bow to her will,” pursued Ristabilito. “Now, when she is not here to see you, sell the pig and eat up the money.”

“But Pelagia?—Pelagia?——” stammered La Brevetta, in whose mind arose a vision of his wrathful wife which brought terror to his heart.

“You can tell her that the pig was stolen,” suggested the ever-ready Ciavola, with a quick gesture of impatience.

La Brevetta was horrified.

“How could I take home such a story? Pelagia would not believe me. She will throw me out of doors! She will beat me! You don’t know Pelagia.”

“Uh, Pelagia! Uh, uh, Donna Pelagia!” cried the wily fellows derisively. Then Ristabilito, mimicking the lamenting voice of Peppe and the sharp, screeching voice of the woman, went through a scene of a comedy in which Peppe was bound to a bench, and soundly spanked by his wife, like a child.

Ciavola witnessed this performance in great glee, laughing and jumping about the pig, unable to restrain himself. The man who was being laughed at was just at this moment taken with a sudden paroxysm of sneezing, and stood waving his arms frantically toward Ristabilito, trying to make him stop. The din was so great that the window panes fairly rattled as the light of the setting sun fell on the three faces.

When Ristabilito was silenced at last, Ciavola said:

“Well, let’s go now!”

“If you wish to stay to supper with me ...” Mastro Peppe ventured to say between his teeth.

“No, no, my beauty,” interrupted Ciavola, turning toward the door. “Remember me to Pelagia,—and do salt the pig.”

II

The two friends walked together along the shore of the river. In the distance the boats of Barletta, loaded with salt, scintillated like fairy palaces of crystal; a gentle breeze was blowing from Montecorno, ruffling the limpid surface of the water.

“I say,” said Ristabilito to Ciavola, halting, “are we going to steal that pig to-night?”

“And how can we do it?” asked Ciavola.

Said Ristabilito:

“I know how to do it if the pig is left where we last saw it.”

Said Ciavola:

“Well, let us do it! But after?”

Ristabilito stopped again, his little eyes brilliant as two carbuncles, his flushed face wrinkling between the ears like a fawn’s, in a grimace of joy.

“I know it ...” he said laconically.

In the distance, his form showing black through the naked trees of the silver poplar grove, Don Bergamino Camplone approached the two. As soon as they saw him, they hastened toward him. Noticing their joyful mien, the priest, smiling, asked them:

“Well, what good news have you?”

Briefly, they communicated to him their purpose, to which he delightedly assented. Ristabilito concluded softly:

“We shall have to use great cunning. You know that Peppe, since he married that ugly woman, Donna Pelagia, has become a great miser, but he likes wine pretty well. Now then let us get him to accompany us to the Inn of Assau. You, Don Bergamino, treat us to drinks and pay for everything. Peppe will drink as much as he can get without having to pay anything for it, and will get intoxicated. We can then go about our business with no fear of interruption.”

Ciavola favoured this plan, and the priest agreed to his share in the bargain. Then all together returned to the house of Peppe, which was only about two gun-shots away, and as they drew near, Ciavola raised his voice:

“Hello-o! La Brevetta! Do you wish to come to the Inn of Assau? The priest is here, and he is ready to pay for a bottle or two—Hello!” La Brevetta did not delay in coming down the path, and the four set out together, in the soft light of the new moon. The quiet was occasionally broken by the caterwauling of love-stricken cats. Ristabilito turned to Peppe, asking in jest:

“Oh, Peppe, don’t you hear Pelagia calling you?”

Upon the left side of the river shone the lights of the Inn of Assau, mirrored by the water. As the current of the river was not very strong here, Assau kept a little boat to ferry over his customers. In answer to their calls, the boat approached over the luminous water to meet the new-comers. When they were seated and engaged in friendly chat, Ciavola with his long legs began to rock the boat, and the creaking of the wood frightened La Brevetta, who, affected by the dampness of the river, broke forth in another paroxysm of sneezing.

Arrived at the inn, seated around an oaken table, the company became more jovial, laughing and jesting loudly, and pouring the wine into their victim, who found it easy to let the good red juice of the vines, rich in taste and colour, run down his throat.

“Another bottle,” ordered Don Bergamino, beating his fist upon the table.

Assau, an essentially rustic, bow-legged man, brought in the ruby coloured bottles. Ciavola sang with much Bacchic freedom, striking the rhythm upon the glasses. La Brevetta, his tongue now thick and his eyes swimming from the effects of the wine, was holding the priest by the sleeve to make him listen to his stammering and incoherent praises of his wonderful pig. Above their heads lines of dried, greenish pumpkins hung from the ceiling; the lamps, in which the oil was getting low, were smoking.

It was late at night and the moon was high in the sky when the friends again crossed the river. In landing, Mastro Peppe came near falling in the mud, for his legs were unsteady and his eyesight blurred.

Ristabilito said:

“Let us do a kind act. Let us carry this fellow home.”

Holding him up under the arms, they took him home through the poplar grove, and the drunken man, mistaking the white trunks of the trees in the night, stammered thickly:

“Oh, how many Dominican monks I see!...”

Said Ciavola, “They are going to look for San Antonio.”

The drunken man went on, after an interval:

“Oh, Lepruccio, Lepruccio, seven measures of salt will be enough. What shall we do?”

The three conspirators, having conveyed Mastro Peppe to the door of his house, left him there. He ascended the steps with much difficulty, mumbling about Lepruccio and the salt. Then, not noticing that he had left the door open, he threw himself into the arms of Morpheus.

Ciavola and Ristabilito, after having partaken of the supper of Don Bergamino, provided with certain crooked tools, set cautiously to work. The moon had set, the sky was glittering with stars, and through the solitude the north wind was blowing sharply. The two men advanced silently, listening for any sound, and halting now and then, when the skill and agility of Matteo Puriello would be called into use for the occasion.

When they reached the place, Ristabilito could scarcely withhold an exclamation of joy on finding the door open. Profound silence reigned through the house, except for the deep snoring of the sleeping man. Ciavola ascended the stairs first, followed by Ristabilito. In the dim light they perceived the vague outlines of the pig lying upon the table. With the utmost caution, they raised the heavy body and dragged it out by main force. They stood listening for a moment. The cocks could be heard crowing, one after another, in the yards.

Then the two thieves, laughing at their prowess, took the pig upon their shoulders and made their way up the path; to Ciavola it seemed like stealing through a wood with poached game. The pig was heavy, and they reached the house of the priest in a breathless state.

III

The next morning, having recovered from the effects of the wine, Mastro Peppe awoke, stood up in bed, and stretched himself, listening to the bells saluting the eve of San Antonio. Already in his mind, in the confusion of the first awakening, he saw Lepruccio cut into pieces and cover his beautiful fat pork-meat with salt, and his soul was filled with happiness at this thought. Impatient for the anticipated delight, he dressed hastily and went out to the stair-case, wiping his eyes to see more clearly. Upon the table where he had left the pig, the morning sun was smiling in, but nothing was there save a stain of blood!

“The pig? Where is the pig?” cried the robbed man in a hoarse voice.

In a frenzy, he descended the stairs, and noticing the open door, striking his forehead, he ran out crying, and called the labourers around him, asking every one if they had seen the pig, if they had taken it. His queries came faster and faster and his voice grew louder and louder, until the sound of the uproar came up the river to Ciavola and Ristabilito.

They came tranquilly upon the group to enjoy the spectacle and keep up the joke. As they came in sight, Mastro Peppe turned to them, weeping in his grief, and exclaimed:

“Oh, dear me! They have stolen my pig! Oh, dear me! What am I to do now? What am I to do?”

Biagio Quaglia stood a moment considering the appearance of the unhappy fellow, his eyes half-closed in an expression which was half sneer, half admiration, his head bent sideways, as though judging of the effect of this acting. Then approaching, he said:

“Yes indeed!... One cannot deny it ... You play your part well!”

Peppe, not understanding, lifted his face, streaked with tears.

“Yes, yes indeed! You are becoming very cunning!” continued Ristabilito with an air of confidential friendship.

Peppe, not yet understanding, stared stupidly at Ristabilito, and his tears stopped flowing.

“But truly, I did not think you were so malicious!” went on Ristabilito. “Good fellow! My compliments!”

“What do you mean?” asked La Brevetta between his sobs. “What do you mean?... Oh, poor me! How can I now return home?”

“Good! Good! Very well done!” cried Ristabilito. “Play your part! Play your part! Weep louder! Pull your hair! Make every one hear you! Yes, that way! Make everybody believe you!”

Peppe, still weeping, “But I am telling you the truth! My pig has been stolen from me! Oh, Lord! Poor me!”

“Go on! Go on! Don’t stop! The more you shout, the less I believe you. Go on! Go on! Some more!”

Peppe, beside himself with anger and grief, swore repeatedly.

“I tell you it is true! I hope to die on the spot if the pig has not been stolen from me!”

“Oh, poor innocent fellow!” shrieked Ciavola, jestingly. “Put your finger in your mouth! How can we believe you, when last night we saw the pig there? Has San Antonio given him wings to fly?”

“San Antonio be blest! It is as I tell you!”

“But how can it be?”

“So it is!”

“It can’t be so!”

“It is so!”

“No!”

“Yes, yes! It is so! It is so, and I am a dead man! I don’t know how I can ever go home again! Pelagia will not believe me; and if she believes me, she will never give me any peace ... I am a dead man!”

“Well, we’ll try to believe you,” said Ristabilito. “But look here, Peppe. Ciavola suggested the trick to you yesterday. Is it not so that you might fool Pelagia, and others as well? You might be capable of doing that.”

Then La Brevetta began to weep and cry and despair in such a foolish burst of grief that Ristabilito said:

“Very well, keep quiet! We believe you. But if this is true, we must find a way to repair the damage.”

“What way?” asked La Brevetta eagerly, a ray of hope coming into his soul.

“I will tell you,” said Biagio Quaglia. “Certainly someone living around here must have done it, for no one has come over from India to take your pig away. Is not that so, Peppe?”

“It is well, it is well!” assented the man, his voice still filled with tears.

“Well, then, pay attention,” continued Ristabilito, delighted at Peppe’s credulity. “Well, then, if no one has come from India to rob you, then certainly someone who lives around here must have been the thief. Is not that so, Peppe?”

“It is well. It is well.”

“Well, what is to be done? We must summon the farm-hands together and employ some sorcery to discover the thief. When the thief is discovered, the pig is found.”

Peppe’s eyes shone with greediness. He came nearer at the hint of the sorcery, which awakened in him all his native superstitions.

“You know there are three kinds of sorcerers, white ones, pink ones, and black ones; and you know there are in the town three women who know the art of sorcery: Rosa Schiavona, Rusaria Pajora, and La Ciniscia. It is for you to choose.”

Peppe stood for a moment in deep thought; then he chose Rusaria Pajora, for she was renowned as an enchantress and always accomplished great things.

“Well then,” Ristabilito finished. “There is no time to lose. For your sake, I am willing to do you a favour; I will go to town and take what is necessary; I will speak with Rusaria and ask her to give me all needful articles and will return this morning. Give me the money.”

Peppe took out of his waistcoat three francs and handed them over hesitatingly.

“Three francs!” cried the other, refusing them. “Three francs? More than ten are needed.” The husband of Pelagia almost had a fit upon hearing this.

“What? Ten francs for a sorcery?” he stammered, feeling in his pocket with trembling fingers. “Here, I give you eight of them, and no more.”

Ristabilito took them, saying dryly:

“Very well! What I can do, I will do. Will you come with me, Ciavola?”

The two companions set off toward Pescara along the path through the trees, walking quickly in single file; Ciavola showed his merriment by pounding Ristabilito on the back with his fist as they went along. Arriving at the town, they betook themselves to the store of Don Daniele Pacentro, a druggist, with whom they were on very familiar terms, and here they purchased certain aromatic drugs, having them put up in pills as big as walnuts, well covered with sugar and apple juice. Just as the druggist finished the pills, Biagio Quaglia, who had been absent during this time, came in, carrying a piece of paper filled with dried excrements of dog, and asked the druggist to make from these two beautiful pills, similar in size and shape to the others, excepting that they were to be dipped in aloe and then lightly coated with sugar. The druggist did as he asked, and in order that these might be distinguished from the others, he placed upon each a small mark as suggested by Ristabilito.

The two cheats then betook themselves back to the house of Mastro Peppe, which they reached in a short time, arriving there at about noon, and found Mastro Peppe anxiously awaiting them. As soon as he saw the form of Ciavola approaching through the trees, he cried out:

“Well?”

“Everything is all right,” answered Ristabilito triumphantly, showing the box containing the bewitched confectionery. “Now, as today is the eve of San Antonio and the labourers are feasting, gather all the people together and offer them drink. I know that you have a certain keg of Montepulciano wine; bring that out today! And when everybody is here, I will know what to say, and what to do.”

IV

Two hours later, during the warm, clear afternoon, all the neighbouring harvesters and farm-hands, who had been summoned by La Brevetta, were assembled together in answer to the invitation. A number of great straw stacks in the yard gleamed brightly golden in the sun; a flock of geese, snowy white, with orange-coloured beaks, waddled slowly about, cackling, and hunting for a place to swim while the smell of manure was wafted at intervals from the barnyard. All these rustic men, waiting to drink, were jesting contentedly, sitting upon their curved legs, deformed by their labours; some of them had round, wrinkled faces like withered apples, some were mild and patient in expression, some showed the animation of malice, all possessed the incipient beards of adolescence, and lounged about in the easy attitudes of youth, wearing their new clothes with the manifest care of love.

Ciavola and Ristabilito did not keep them waiting long. Holding the box of candy in his hand, Ristabilito ordered the men to form a circle, and standing in the centre, he proceeded with grave voice and gestures to give a brief harangue.

“Good men! None of you know Why Mastro Peppe De Sierri has called you here....”

The men’s mouths opened in stupid wonder at this unexpected preamble, and as they listened, their joy in anticipation of the promised wine changed to an uneasy expectation of something else, they knew not what. The orator continued:

“But as something unpleasant might happen for which you would reprove me, I will tell you what is the matter before making any experiment.”

His listeners stared questioningly at each other with a look of stupidity, then turned their gaze upon the curious and mysterious box which the speaker held in his hands. One of them, when Ristabilito paused to notice the effect of his words, exclaimed impatiently:

“Well, what is it?”

“I will tell you immediately, my good men. Last night there was stolen from Mastro Peppe a beautiful pig, which was all ready for salting. Who the thief is we do not know, but certainly he must be found among you people, for nobody came from India to steal the pig from Mastro Peppe!”

Whether it was the playful effect of the strong argument about India, or whether it was the heat of the bright sun cannot be determined, but at any rate, La Brevetta began to sneeze. The peasants moved back, the flock of geese ran in all directions, terrified, and the seven consecutive sneezes resounded loudly in the air, disturbing the rural quiet. An uproar of merriment seized the crowd at the great noise. After they had again recovered their composure, Ristabilito went on gravely, as before:

“In order to discover the thief, Mastro Peppe has planned to give you certain good candies to eat, and some of his old Montepulciano wine to drink, which will be tapped for this purpose today. But I must tell you something. The thief, as soon as he bites the candy, will feel his mouth so drawn up by the bitterness of the candy that he will have to spit it out. Now, do you want to try this experiment? Or, is the thief, in order not to be found out in such a manner, ready to confess now? Tell me, what do you want to do?”

“We wish to eat and drink!” answered the crowd in a chorus, while an excited motion ran through the throng, each man showing an expression of curiosity and delight at the portentous demonstration about to be made.

Ciavola said:

“You must stand in a row for this experiment. Now, one of you is to be singled out.”

When they were all thus formed in a line, he took up the flask of wine and one of the glasses, ready to pour it. Ristabilito placed himself at one end of the line, and began slowly to distribute the candy, which cracked under the strong teeth of the peasants and instantly disappeared. When he reached Mastro Peppe, he took out one of the canine candies, which had been marked, and handed it to him, without in any way arousing suspicion by his manner.

Mastro Peppe, who had been watching with wide open eyes to detect the thief, thrust the candy quickly in his mouth, with almost gluttonous eagerness, and began to chew it up. Suddenly his jaw bones rose through his cheeks towards his eyes, the corners of his mouth twisted upwards, and his temples wrinkled, the skin of his nose drew up, his chin became contorted, and all his features took on a comic and involuntary expression of horror, a visible shiver passed down his back, the bitterness of the aloes on his tongue was beyond endurance, his stomach revolted so that he was unable to swallow the dose, and the unhappy man was forced to spit it from his mouth.

“Oho, Mastro Peppe! What in the dickens are you doing?” cried out Tulespre dei Passeri, a greenish, hairy old goat-shepherd,—green as a swamp-turtle. Hearing his voice, Ristabilito turned around from his work of distributing the candies. Seeing La Brevetta’s contortions, he said in a benevolent voice:

“Well! Perhaps the candy I gave you is too sweet. Here is another one, try this, Peppe,” and with his two fingers, he tossed into Peppe’s open mouth the other canine pill.

The poor man took it, and feeling the sharp, malignant eyes of the goat-herder fixed upon him, he made a supreme effort to endure the bitterness. He neither bit nor swallowed it, but let it stay in his mouth, with his tongue pressed motionless against his teeth. But in the heat and dampness of his mouth, the aloes began to dissolve, and he could not long endure the taste; his mouth began to twist as before, his nose was filled with tears, the big drops ran down his cheeks, springing from his eyes like uncut pearls, and at last, he had to spit out the mouthful.

“Well, well, Mastro Peppe! What the dickens are you doing now?” again exclaimed the goat-herder, showing his white and toothless gums as he spoke. “Well, well! What does this mean?”

The peasants broke the lines, and crowded around La Brevetta, some jeering and laughing, others with wrathful words. Their pride had been hurt, and the ready brutality of the rustic people was aroused and the implacable austerity of their superstitious natures broke out in a sudden tempest of contumely and reproach.

“Why did you get us to come here to try to lay the blame of this thing on one of us? So this is the kind of sorcery you have gotten up? It was intended to fool us! And why? You calculated wrongly, you fool! you liar! you ill-bred fool! you rascal! You wanted to deceive us, you fool! you thief! you liar! You deserve to have every bone in your body broken, you scoundrel! you deceiver!”

Having broken the wine flasks and all the glasses, they dispersed, shouting back their last insults through the poplar grove.

Ciavola, Ristabilito, the geese, and La Brevetta were left alone in the yard. The latter, filled with shame, rage, and confusion, his tongue still biting from the acridness of the aloes, was unable to speak a word. Ristabilito stood looking at him pitilessly, tapping the ground with his toe as he stood supported on his heels, and shaking his head sarcastically, then he broke out with an insinuating sneer:

“Ha! ha! ha! ha! Good, good, La Brevetta! Now, tell us how much you got for the pig. Did you get ten ducats?”