kitchen, while Marzio and his family occupied the rest of the floor, and
entered their lodging by the opposite door.

Maria Luisa envied the couple in her sleepy fashion. Her husband was
indeed comparatively rich, and though economical in his domestic
arrangements, he had money in the bank enough to keep him comfortably
for the rest of his days. His violence did not extend beyond words and
black looks, and he was not miserly about a few francs for dress, or a
dinner at the Falcone two or three times a year. But in the matter of
domestic peace his conduct left much to be desired. He was a sober man,
but his hours were irregular, for he attended the meetings of a certain
club which Maria Luisa held in abhorrence, and brought back opinions
which made her cross herself with her fat fingers, shuddering at the
things he said. As for Gianbattista Bordogni, who lived with them, and
consequently received most of his wages in the shape of board and
lodging, he loved Lucia Pandolfi, his master's daughter, and though he
shared Marzio's opinions, he held his tongue in the house. He understood
how necessary to him the mother's sympathy must be, and, with subtle
intelligence, he knew how to create a contrast between himself and his
master by being reticent at the right moment.

Lucia opened the door in answer to the bell her father had rung, and
stood aside in the narrow way to let members of the household pass by,
one by one. Lucia was seventeen years old, and probably resembled her
mother as the latter had looked at the same age. She was slight, and
tall, and dark, with a quantity of glossy black hair coiled behind her
head. Her black eyes had not yet acquired that sleepy look which
advancing life and stoutness had put into her mother's, as a sort of
sign of the difficulty of quick motion. Her figure was lithe, though she
was not a very active girl, and one might have predicted that at forty