Well, and so you’ve got a husband and plenty of money? Then you’ll never think much of giving four white quattrini for a red cross. I get no profit; but what with the famine and the new religion, all other merchandise is gone down. You live in the country where the chestnuts are plenty, eh? You’ve never wanted for polenta, I can see.”
“No, I’ve never wanted anything,” said Tessa, still on her guard.
“Then you can afford to buy a cross. I got a Padre to bless them, and you get blessing and all for four quattrini . It isn’t for the profit; I hardly get a danaro by the whole lot. But then they’re holy wares, and it’s getting harder and harder work to see your way to Paradise: the very Carnival is like Holy Week, and the least you can do to keep the Devil from getting the upper hand is to buy a cross. God guard you! think what the Devil’s tooth is! You’ve seen him biting the man in San Giovanni, I should hope?”
Tessa felt much teased and frightened.
“Oh, Bratti,” she said, with a discomposed face, “I want to buy a great many confetti: I’ve got little Lillo and Ninna at home. And nice coloured sweet things cost a great deal. And they will not like the cross so well, though I know it would be good to have it.”
“Come, then,” said Bratti, fond of laying up a store of merits by imagining possible extortions and then heroically renouncing them, “since you’re an old acquaintance, you shall have it for two quattrini . It’s making you a present of the cross, to say nothing of the blessing.”
Tessa was reaching out her two quattrini with trembling hesitation, when Bratti said abruptly, “Stop a bit! Where do you live?”