But Regina was looking at the muddy pavement, presided over by that little black figure, whose whole fortune consisted in those seven miserable lemons. It seemed as if she had no right to rejoice in the pleasures offered by a great city, when in that same city, at a street corner, while it rained, that little old woman was to be seen tired and shaking with cold. Her soul must have turned sour and sad like the lemons which made up her ridiculous fortune, all her subsistence, the total of her long life of labour and sorrow.
"To be poor and old! " murmured Regina, trying to express her idea to her husband.
"What is it you've got in your head?" he returned; "do you imagine the old crone is suffering ? Not she! She's used to that sort of life. If you altered her habits, even if you offered her a more comfortable existence, she'd be perfectly wretched."
Regina remembered her own case, and questioned whether Antonio were not right. Her thoughts flew to her old home, where the firelight would be just beginning to gild the semi-obscurity of the great parlour. The recollection was enough to make her feel sadder still, here in this cold and untidy little city drawing-room.
She was roused from her homesickness by Arduina, who brought tidings.
"The Princess is coming after all! She had promised, but I feared she'd never turn out a day like this. She is so kind! and so clever. I adore her. I must go and dress. Mario!" she cried, running to her husband, who was entering, " Mario, make haste! Put on at least your - "
Sor Mario entered, very grave, very fat, much out
