ed the "young girls" and their cake, a
concoction of honey, chalk and almond oil, but deemed it prudent to
swallow another mouthful before once more touching, or rather pressing
the tender spot he had discovered.

"I know nothing! I know nothing! Absolutely nothing!" Signora Cecca
exclaimed. "Try sounding Puttini. Try Signor Giacomo. And pray don't ask
me anything more." Again! Pasotti's face shone at the prospect of
getting the unlucky Signor Giacomo into his clutches. Thus the eyes of a
falcon might shine at the joyous prospect of snatching a frog, and of
holding him in his claws, to toy with at pleasure. Presently he took his
departure well satisfied with everything save with the chalky cake,
which lay like lead in his stomach.

* * * * *

Casa Puttini, which, within its minute, genteel appearance, resembled
the little old gentleman who ruled it, in a black coat and white stock,
stood just below that stately pile, Casa Pasotti, on the road to
Albogasio Inferiore. The falcon went there in the afternoon, towards
five o'clock, with a cunning expression on his face. He knocked at the
door and then listened. He was there! The unlucky frog was there! And he
was quarrelling as usual with the perfidious servant. Pasotti knocked
louder. "Go down!" said Signor Giacomo, but Marianna would not hear of
going down to open the door. "Go down! I am the master!" It was all in
vain. Pasotti knocked again, knocked like a battering-ram. "Who the
devil can it be!" scolded Puttini, and he came down puffing: "Apff!
apff!" to open the door. "Oh, most gracious Controller!" said he winking
hard, and raising his eyebrows pathetically. "Pray excuse me! That awful
servant! I am quite worn out! You would not believe the things that go
on in this house!"

"That is a lie!" Marianna cried from above.

"Hold your tongue, you!" And then Signor Giacomo began telling his woes,
stopping from time to time to silence the protests of the invisible
servant.

"Just fancy! This morning I went to Lugano. I got home about three
o'clock. On the doorstep--look there--I saw some splashes. Hold your
tongue, you! I did not heed them, and went straight in. At the head of
the kitchen-stairs there were more splashes. Be quiet, will you?--What
can have been spilled? said I to myself, and I stooped and touched the
spots with my finger. It was something greasy; I smelt it, it was oil.
Then I followed the splashes, touching and sniffing