“That is right,” continued the girl.  “Drink, mamma, it will do you good.  And then, and then—­let me see.  And then you must talk to Suntarella about the dinner.  That old woman has no head—­”

“Dinner!” cried the mother, “who thinks of dinner at such a time?  And he left me the money for the outfit, too!  Lucia, my love, I have the fever—­I will go to bed.”

“Eh!  What do you suppose?  That is a way out of all difficulties,” answered Lucia philosophically.

“But you cannot go out alone—­”

“I will stay at home in that case.”

“And then he will come to dinner, and ask to see the things—­”

“There will be no things to show him,” returned the young girl.

“Well?  And then where should we be?” inquired the Signora Pandolfi.  “I see him, my husband, coming back and finding that nothing has been done!  He would tear his hair!  He would kill us!  He would bring his broomstick of a lawyer here to marry you this very afternoon, and what should we have gained then?  It needs judgment, Lucia, my heart—­judgment, judgment!” repeated the fat lady, tapping her forehead.

“Eh!  If you have not enough for two, mamma, I do not know what we shall do.”

“At the same time, something must be done,” mused Maria Luisa.  “My head is positively bursting!  We might go out and buy half a dozen handkerchiefs, just to show him that we have begun.  Do you think a few handkerchiefs would quiet him, my love?  You could always use them afterwards—­a dozen would be too many—­”

“Bacchus!” exclaimed Lucia, “I have only one nose.”

“It is a pity,” answered her mother rather irrelevantly.  “After all, handkerchiefs are the cheapest things, and if we spread them out, all six, on the green sofa, they will make a certain effect—­these men!  One must deceive them, my child.”

“Suppose we did another thing,” began Lucia, looking out of the window.  “We might get some things—­in earnest, good things.  They will always do for the wedding with Tista.  Meanwhile, papa will of course have to change his mind, and then it will be all right.”

“What genius!” cried the Signora Pandolfi.  “Oh, Lucia!  You have found it!  And then we can just step into the workshop on our way—­that will reassure your father.”

“Perhaps, after all, it would be better to go and tell him the truth,” said Lucia, beginning to walk slowly up and down the room.  “He must know it, sooner or later.”

“Are you mad, Lucia?” exclaimed her mother, holding up her hands in horror.  “Just think how he would act if you went and faced him!”

“Then why not go and find Uncle Paolo?” suggested the girl.  “He will know what is best to be done, and will help us, you may be sure.  Of course, he expected to see us before anything was done in the matter.  But I am not afraid to face papa all alone.  Besides, Tista is talking to him at this very minute.  I told him all he was to say, and he has so much courage!”