And then he has
lost a lot at Lotto lately. He has no luck. And then he, too, was in a
row yesterday evening."
"The Marchese?"
"Yes, in the Chiaia. He slapped Signora Merani's face twice before
every one."
"Diavolo! What! a lady?"
"Well, if you like to call her so," returned Doro, negligently. "Her
husband is an impiegato of the Post-office, or something of the kind."
"But why should the Marchese slap her face in the Chiaia?"
"Because she provoked him. They took a flat in the house my father
owns in the Strada Chiatamone. After a time they got behind with the
rent. He let them stay on for six months without paying, and then he
turned them out. What should he do?" Doro began to gesticulate. He
held his right hand up on a level with his face, with the fingers all
drawn together and pressed against the thumb, and moved it violently
backwards and forwards, bringing it close to the bridge of his nose,
then throwing it out towards Artois. "What else, I say? Was he to give
his beautiful rooms to them for nothing? And she with a face like--
have you, I ask you, Emilio, have you seen her teeth?"
"I have never seen the Signora in my life!"
"You have never seen her teeth? Dio Mio!" He opened his two hands,
and, lifting his arms, shook them loosely above his head, shutting his
eyes for an instant as if to ward off some dreadful vision.
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