you poison?" Then Vardiello told her, one after another, all the
pretty things he had done; on which account he wished to die and
not to remain any longer a laughing-stock in the world.

The poor woman, on hearing all this, was miserable and wretched,
and she had enough to do and to say to drive this melancholy
whimsey out of Vardiello's head. And being infatuated and
dotingly fond of him, she gave him some nice sweetmeats, and so
put the affair of the pickled walnuts out of his head, and convinced
him that they were not poison, but good and comforting to the
stomach. And having thus pacified him with cheering words, and
showered on him a thousand caresses, she drew him out of the
oven. Then giving him a fine piece of cloth, she bade him go and
sell it, but cautioning him not to do business with folks of too
many words.

"Tut, tut!" said Vardiello, "let me alone; I know what I'm about,
never fear." So saying, he took the cloth, and went his way through
the city of Naples, crying, "Cloth! cloth!" But whenever any one
asked him, "What cloth have you there?" he replied, "You are no
customer for me; you are a man of too many words." And when
another said to him, "How do you sell your cloth?" he called him a
chatterbox, who deafened him with his noise. At length he chanced
to espy, in the courtyard of a house which was deserted on account
of the Monaciello, a plaster statue; and being tired out, and
wearied with going about and about, he sat himself down on a
bench. But not seeing any one astir in the house, which looked like
a sacked village, he was lost in amazement, and said to the statue:
"Tell me, comrade, does no one live in this house?" Vardiello
waited awhile; but as the statue gave no answer, he thought this