Veronica stared.

Matilde held her breath.
Still he laughed softly.
"Marionettes," he said, looking up at his wife, his little eyes wide open.

"Do you see the marionettes?
This is Pulcinella.

This is his wife.
Do you see how they quarrel?
Is it not pretty?
I always like to see the marionettes in the streets.

Ha! ha! ha! see them!" And he played with his fingers and made them bob and bow, like little dolls.
"He is ill," said Matilde, in a low, uneasy voice.