Story's studio and the old Barberini palace
and the Barberini square and fountains. Off behind, is that terrible
church of the Cappucini, with its cemetery underneath of bones and
skulls and such horrors. I like the apartments very much, principally
because I have made three staunch friends and one good enemy, in the
kitchen. The padrona,--she's the woman who keeps the house, and serves
us, too, in this case--though Mrs. Jerrold has a maid to wait on the
table and care for our rooms--well, the padrona is my first friend. Her
cousin, a handsome southern Italian, is here on a visit, and she is not
only my friend, but my instructress. She tells me lovely stories about
her home and the peasants and their life, while I sit on the floor with
Giovanni,--friend number three and eldest son of the padrona,--and even
Roberto, my enemy, the crying baby of three years, hushes his naughty
mouth to listen to Lisetta, for that is the cousin's name. I am so
glad I studied Italian as hard as I did for my music, for it comes very
easily to me now, and already I slip the pretty words from my halting
tongue much more smoothly and quickly than you would imagine I could.
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