I was with my mamma in the Piazza of Masaniello. We had
been eating snails, Signora, and afterwards watermelon, and we had
each had a glass of white wine. And I was feeling very happy, because
my poor mamma had heard good news."
"What was that?"
"To-morrow my Patrigno is to be let out of prison."
"So soon! But I thought he had not been tried."
"No, Signora. But he is to be let out now. Perhaps he will be put back
again. But now he is let out because"--he hesitated--"because--well,
Signora, he has such friends, he has friends who are powerful for him.
And so he is let out just now."
"I understand."
"Well, Signora, and after the white wine we were feeling happy, and we
were going to see everything: the Madonna, and Masaniello, and the
fireworks, and the fire-balloon. Did you see the fire-balloon,
Signora?"
"Yes, Ruffo. It was very pretty."
His simple talk soothed her. He was so young, so happy, so free from
the hideous complexities of life; no child of tragedy, but the son
surely of a love that had been gay and utterly contented.
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