Here, too, everything was new; the white walls, the stove of glistening bricks, the petroleum lamp hanging from the ceiling. It was all so gorgeous that Aunt Bachissia could not refrain from gazing about her the whole time, her shining, little, green beads of eyes, snapping and sparkling in the sallow, hawklike face, set in the folds of a black scarf. She at least, was unchanged--the old witch! She was seated beside the servant-maid, a dirty, dishevelled young person, whose loud and frequent laugh displayed a set of protruding teeth. Aunt Porredda was cooking, and scolding the maid for this annoying habit of hers. Only fancy! Here was the mistress doing the cooking, while the servant sat by the stove and--laughed! What kind of way to do was that? And, moreover, the good woman could never have one single moment's peace, and she the mother of a famous lawyer! Giovanna seated herself at some little distance from the stove, stooping over with her hands still buried in the pockets of her skirt. "Just look!" exclaimed Aunt Bachissia in a tone of envy. "This kitchen might be a parlour! You must do _your_ kitchen up like this, Giovanna." "Yes," said the young woman absent-mindedly. "Yes? Well, upon my soul, I should say so! Godmother Malthina is close, but you have got to make her understand that money is meant to spend. A kitchen like this--why, it is heaven--upon my soul! This is living." "What do you always say 'upon my soul' for?" asked the giggling servant-maid. "If she doesn't choose to spend her money, how am I to make her?" said Giovanna with a sigh. The servant was still laughing, but Aunt Porredda, who wanted to keep out of her guests' conversation, turned on her, and sharply ordered her to grate some cheese for the macaroni. The girl obeyed. "What is the matter with you?" asked Aunt Bachissia as Giovanna sighed again. "She remembers!" said Aunt Porredda to herself. "After all, she is a Christian, not an animal, and she can't help herself!" But Giovanna spoke up crossly: "Well, it's just this; they've cheated us. That is not good linen, and the ribbon is spotted. Oh! it is too much." "Upon my soul!" said the maid, mimicking Aunt Bachissia's voice and accent, and grating away vigorously on the cheese.