To some natures there can be nothing more odious than such a realisation, and of those, I think, was she; for she stamped her foot in a sudden pet, and curtly asked the host why there was such delay with the horses.
"They are at the door, Madonna," he protested, bowing as he spoke.

"And your escort is already waiting in the saddle." She turned and strode abruptly towards the threshold.

Over her shoulder she called to me: "If you come with us, Boccadoro, you had best be brisk." "I follow, Madonna," said I, with a grim relish, "so soon as I have paid the reckoning." She halted and half turned, and I thought I saw a slight droop at the corners of her mouth.
"You are keeping count of what I owe you ?" she muttered.
"Aye, Madonna," I answered, more grimly still, "I am keeping count." And I thought that my wits were vastly at fault if that account were not to be greatly swelled ere Pesaro was reached.

Haply, indeed, my own life might go to swell it.

I almost took a relish in that thought.