But the offer of the punch was irresistible.

The poor little impresario knew how little possibility there was of finding any such pleasant stimulant in the cold, cheerless, wifeless little quartiere which he and Marta called their home.

His teeth were chattering with cold; and the hot punch carried the day.
"Troppo buono, Signor Conte! Truly a good glass of hot ponche would be the saving of me! It is very kindly thought of.

Well, then; listen in your ear.

But you won't say a word about it till to-morrow morning.