All he said was, "I have that letter!" stamping the assertion with an oath.
Half-an-hour later Luigi saw Barto in the saddle, tight-legged about a rusty beast, evidently bound for the South-eastern gate, his brows set like a black wind.

"Blessings on his going!" thought Luigi, and sang one of his street-songs:--"O lemons, lemons, what a taste you leave in the mouth! I desire you, I love you, but when I suck you, I'm all caught up in a bundle and turn to water, like a wry-faced fountain.

Why not be satisfied by a sniff at the blossoms?
There's gratification.

Why did you grow up from the precious little sweet chuck that you were, Marietta?
Lemons, O lemons! such a thing as a decent appetite is not known after sucking at you." His natural horror of a resolute man, more than fear (of which he had no recollection in the sunny Piazza), made him shiver and gave his tongue an acid taste at the prospect of ever meeting Barto Rizzo again.

There was the prospect also that he might never meet him again..