The Signor Controllore!" and out popped a big, rubicund
priest, with a glorious belly, a large, black straw hat, a cigar in his
mouth, and an umbrella under his arm.

"Oh! Curatone!" Pasotti exclaimed. "Well done! Are you invited to the
dinner also? Are you coming to Cressogno with us?"

"If you will take me," the curate of Puria answered, going down towards
the boat. "Well, I never! The Signora Barborin is here also."

The expression of his big face became supremely amiable, his great voice
became supremely sweet.

"She is devilish frightened, poor creature!" Pasotti grinned, while the
curate was making a series of little bows, and smiling sweetly upon the
lady, who was more terrified than ever at the prospect of this added
weight. She began to gesticulate silently, as if the others had been
more deaf than she herself. She pointed to the lake, to the sail, to the
bulk of the enormous curate, raising her eyes to heaven, hiding her face
in her hands, or pressing them to her heart.

"I don't weigh so very much," said the curate laughing. "Hold your
tongue, will you?" he added, turning to Pin, who had murmured
disrespectfully: "A good, big fish!"

"I'll tell you how we can cure her of her fright!" Pasotti exclaimed.
"Pin, have you a little table, and a pack of _tarocchi_[B] cards?"

"I have a pack," Pin replied. "But they are rather greasy."

They had great difficulty in making Signora Barbara--generally called
_Barborin_--understand the matter in hand. She would not understand, not
even when her husband forced the pack of filthy cards into her hands.

For the present, however, playing was out of the question. The boat was
being laboriously rowed forward towards the mouth of the river of San
Mamette, where they would be able to hoist the sail. The surf, flung
back from the shore, clashed with the in-coming waves, and the little
boat was tossing about among the seething, foaming crests. The lady was
weeping and Pasotti was swearing at Pin, who had not stood out into the
lake far enough. At last the fat curate seized a couple of oars, and
planting his big person firmly in the middle of the boat, bent to his
work with such good will that a few strokes sufficed to send them
forward and out of difficulty. Then the sail was hoisted, and the boat
glided quietly and smoothly onward, rocking slowly and gently, while the
water gurgled softly under its keel. Then the smiling priest sat down
beside Signora Barborin, who had c