toe that she might not interrupt the
melody. No one noticed her entrance save Luisa, who made her sit down
beside her on the little sofa near the piano.

Signora Peppina with her cordial good-nature, her long tongue, and her
foolishness was irritating to Franco, but not to Luisa. Luisa liked her,
but she was careful on account of Carlascia. From her garden Peppina had
heard that "lovely song," and then the bassoon and the greetings; she
had imagined there was going to be music, and she was "so madly fond of
music, you know!" There was that lawyer who "blows into that shiny
thing," to say nothing of Don Franco with those fingers of his "that
seem bewitched." To hear the piano played with such precision was as
good as hearing a barrel-organ, and she was "so awfully fond" of
barrel-organs! She added that she had been afraid she should disturb
them, but that her husband had encouraged her to come. And she asked if
that other gentleman from Loveno did not play also; if they were going
to stay long; and observed that both must be passionately fond of music.

"I'll be even with you, you rascal of a Receiver," thought Luisa, and
she proceeded to stuff his wife with the most ridiculous tales of the
melomania of Pedraglio and the lawyer, inventing more and more as she
grew more and more angry with those odious persons against whom one was
obliged to defend one's self by lying. Signora Peppina swallowed all the
stories scrupulously down to the very last, accompanying them with
gentle notes of pleased wonder: "Oh, how strange!--Just fancy!--Just
think of that!" Then, instead of listening to the diabolical dispute
going on between the piano and the bassoon, she began to talk of the
Commissary, saying he intended to come and see Don Franco's flowers.

"He may come," said Luisa, coldly.

Then Signora Peppina, taking advantage of the storm Franco and his
friend were raising, risked a little private speech, which would have
cost her dear had her Carlascia overheard it, but fortunately that
faithful mastiff was asleep in his own bed, his night-cap drawn well
down over his ears.

"I am so devoted to these dear flowers!" she began. It was her opinion
the Maironis would do well to pet the Commissary a little. He was one
of the Marchesa's intimates, and it would be awful if he should take it
into his head to cause them trouble. He was a terrible man, this
Commissary! "Now my Carlo barks a little, but he is a good creature; the
other one