human
I thought you spoke, said the Scotchman.
gpt
Well--the abbess is very ill, and Sor Tommaso has a job.
human
May he do it well! So that it need not be begun again.
gpt
What do you mean?
human
Those nuns! exclaimed Stefanone, instead of answering the question.
gpt
What are they here to do, in this world? Better make saints of them--and good night! There would be one misery less. Do you know what they do? They make wine. Good! But they do not drink it. They sell it for a farthing less by the foglietta than other people. The devil take them and their wine!
human
Eh, Signore! cried Stefanone.
gpt
You who are a foreigner and a Protestant, can you not say something, since it would be no sin for you?
human
I was thinking of something to say, Signor Stefanone. But as for that, who does the business for the convent? They cannot do it themselves, I suppose. Who determines the price of their wine for them? Or the price of their corn?
gpt
They are not so stupid as you think. Oh, no! They are not stupid, the nuns. They know the price of this, and the cost of that, just as well as you and I do. But Gigetto's father, Sor Agostino, is their steward, if that is what you wish to know. And his father was before him, and Gigetto will be after him, with his pumpkin-head. And the rest is sung by the organ, as we say when mass is over. For you know about Gigetto and Annetta.
human
Yes. And as you cannot quarrel with Sor Agostino on that account, I do not see but that you will either have to bear it, or sell your wine a farthing cheaper than that of the nuns.
gpt
Eh--that is soon said. A farthing cheaper than theirs! That means half a baiocco cheaper than I sell it now. And the best is only five baiocchi the foglietta, and the cheapest is two and a half. Good bye profit--a pleasant journey to Stefanone. But it is those nuns. They are to blame, and the devil will pay them.
human
In that case you need not, observed Dalrymple, rising.
gpt
I am going to wash my hands before supper.
human
At your pleasure, Signore,