"No, indeed. So much the better. You can be with her this evening, can't you?" "Yes, by Bacchus! Poor mistress! how surprised she will be to hear from you! for you see, Nello, you see, Signor"---- "Call me Nello when we are alone, and Lelio before other people, until the old Chioggia affair is forgotten altogether." "Oh! I know. Poor Massatone! But that is beginning to die out." "What were you saying about Signora Bianca? That is what I am anxious to know." "I was saying that she will turn very red and then very pale when I hand her your letter and whisper: 'This is from Nello! The signora remembers Nello, who used to sing so well!'--Then she will say to me in a serious tone, for she is no longer bright and cheerful as she used to be, poor signora: 'Very well, Mandola, go to the pantry.' And then she will call me back and say in a sweet tone, for she is just as kind-hearted as ever: 'Poor Mandola, you must be very tired!--Give him some of the best wine, Salomé!'" "Salomé!" I cried; "is she married too?" "Oh! she'll never marry. She is just the same, no older nor younger; never smiling, never shedding a tear, adoring the signora as always, and forever resisting her; very fond of the signora and always scolding her; kind-hearted at bottom, but not amiable. Has Signora Alezia recognized you?" "No, indeed." "I can believe it; I had much difficulty in recognizing you myself. People change so much! You used to be so small and so slender!" "Oh! not too slender, if I remember aright." "And I," continued Mandola with comical distress, "I was so active and graceful and quick and merry! Ah! how fast one grows old!"