As for Goneril, she considered him the most charming old man she had
ever known, and liked nothing so much as to go out a walk with him.
That, indeed, was one of the signorino's pleasures; he loved to take the
young girl all over his gardens and vineyards, talking to her in the
amiable, half-petting, half-mocking manner that he had adopted from the
first. And twice a week he gave her a music lesson.
"She has a splendid organ!" he would say.
"Vous croyez?" fluted Madame Petrucci with the vilest accent and the
most aggravating smile imaginable.
It was the one hobby of the signorino's that she regarded with
disrespect.
Goneril, too, was a little bored by the music lesson; but, on the other
hand, the walks delighted her.
One day Goneril was out with her friend.
"Are the peasants very much afraid of you, signore?" she asked.
"Am I such a tyrant?" counter-questioned the signorino.
"No; but they are always begging me to ask you things. Angiolino wants
to know if he may go for three days to see his uncle at Fiesole."
"Of course"
"But why, then, don't they ask you themselves? Is it they think me so
cheeky?"
"Perhaps they think I can refuse you nothing."
"Che! In that case they would ask Madame Petrucci."
Goneril ran on to pick some china roses. The signorino stopped
confounded.
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