VII


CASA ROSA, May 30.

We have had a battle royal in Casa Rosa--a battle over the breaking
of a huge blue pitcher valued at eight francs, a pitcher belonging
to the Little Genius.

The room that leads from the dining-room to the kitchen is reached
by the descent of two or three stone steps. It is always full, and
is like the orthodox hell in one respect, that though myriads of
people are seen to go into it, none ever seem to come out. It is
not more than twelve feet square, and the persons most continuously
in it, not counting those who are in transit, are the Padrona
Angela; the Padrona Angela's daughter, Signorina Rita; the
Signorina Rita's temporary suitor; the suitor's mother and cousin;
the padrona's great-aunt; a few casual acquaintances of the two
families, and somebody's baby: not always the same baby; any baby
answers the purpose and adds to the confusion and chatter of
tongues.

This morning, the door from the dining-room being ajar, I heard a
subdued sort of Bedlam in the distance, and finally went nearer to
the scene of action, finding the cause in a heap of broken china in
the centre of the floor. I glanced at the excited company, but
there was nothing to show me who was the criminal. There was a
spry girl washing dishes; the fritter-woman (at least we call her