“That you will, pantata, that you will. I know it from your own poor father. When he suffered most at your hands, and got a sight of me it was just as though he had bitten honey. Oh! You have no idea at all how I sweetened his life for him. I was more than sauce and seasoning,” said Vena proudly.
“Listen, aged wife of my bosom, this affects your credit in the kitchen,” laughed old Loyka.
“It affects you both, pantata,” said Vena, quickly correcting him. “But, of course, you will soon understand it all yourselves. When your dinner is brought to you up aloft yonder without salt or sauce or seasoning, neither your son nor your son’s wife will salt or sauce it for you; then you just call down the back stairs ‘Oh! Vena, come and be our sauce and seasoning!’ And I shall understand all that you have need of. Only, prythee, guarantee me those two chambers, or verily it will go hard with you.”
“The two chambers? If I had to take thee with me aloft into the pension house, thou should’st never quit the estate, Vena,” answered Loyka sententiously.
“I have your word, at all events,” said Vena, thanking him. “So now we may proceed with your banishment. I thought it important to insist upon the matter of my two chambers, because it is possible that to-day you will march across yon courtyard for the last time in your life.”
