“_Buon giorno_, Signor Di Bello,” she said, in a tone that gave promise sure of more to follow. “O Signora Sara, _buon giorno_.” “Two cents’ worth of salt, if you please. _Ahimè!_ Truly these are days of much expense. Never did I fry peppers that required so much salt.” “Ah, _si_; much expense,” said Signor Di Bello, yawning and handing her out a two-cent bag. From a deep pocket of her skirt she drew a begrimed canvas money pouch, and untied a long string with which it was closed at the top and wound about many times. Dipping in, she brought forth a handful of coppers, and selected two. These she laid on the counter with a sigh, first feeling of the bag to make sure that it was packed hard with salt. She looked about the shop, and stood a moment moving a red-stockinged foot in and out at the open heel of her wooden-soled slipper. “Your nephew not here?” she remarked, and then with a chuckle, “With the singer, _neh_?” “What singer?” asked Di Bello. “Juno.” “What has he to do with La Superba?” “More than you think,” returned the yellow-visaged beldame, nodding her head mysteriously, while her long gold earrings jingled. “Listen, and it is I that will tell you something. Go to the Caffè of the Beautiful Sicilian if you would know with whom he spends his time.” “What do you mean?” “There it is that he meets the _cantatrice_.” “Juno?” “_Si_, signore.” “Satan the Pig! Bah! What are you saying?” “The truth, signore; the truth, I assure you. I have it on the word of Lavinia the waitress. Only yesterday she saw them kiss.” The gloating eyes of Sara were fixed upon him, and Di Bello did something very unusual for him--he dissembled his feelings. “What of it?” he said with an air of unconcern. “Why should he not kiss her? It is no affair of mine.” Though a good piece of acting, it did not gammon the keen wits of Sara the Frier of Pepper Pods. Taking up her bag of salt, she clattered from the shop, and before long stood the voluble centre of a group of eager women, into whose ears she poured the tidings of rival loves in Casa Di Bello. Meantime the grocer, waiting for Bertino, fanned his wrath. When the young man turned up at the shop this was his greeting: “Satan the Pig!” “Why?” asked Bertino. “And you have the courage to ask? Very innocent for one who tries to rob me of the woman I love. O traitor!” Bertino stood speechless with amazement and dismay. His good-natured, easy-going uncle prancing about the place in a fit of passion was a sight that took his breath away. “By the Egg of Columbus!” Di Bello continued, raising his clinched fist and fixing his eyes upon the loops of dried sausage suspended from the ceiling--“by the Egg, I swear it, if you don’t keep away from that woman I’ll turn you from my door--I’ll have your heart’s blood!” “What woman?” Bertino asked gingerly, and with a feint of ignorance that was not convincing. “Bah! Don’t play the fool. I know all. Remember what I tell you--keep away from her.”