The Marchesa was slowly fanning herself, already seated at her place.
"If you are human beings, and not astronomers," she said, "we might perhaps dine." "I am very human, for my part," said San Miniato, holding Beatrice's chair for her to sit down.
"There was really no use for the lamp, mamma," she said, turning again to look at the moon.

"You see what an illumination we have! San Miniato has provided us with something better than a lamp." "San Miniato, my dear child, is a man of the highest genius.

I always said so.

But if you begin to talk of eating without a lamp, you may as well talk of abolishing civilisation." "I wish we could!" exclaimed Beatrice.
"And so do I, with all my heart," said San Miniato.
"Including baccarat and quinze ?" enquired the Marchesa, lazily picking out the most delicate morsels from the cold fish on her plate.
"Including baccarat, quinze, the world, the flesh and the devil," said San Miniato.
"Pray remember, dearest friend, that Beatrice is at the table," observed the Marchesa, with indolent reproach in her voice.
"I do," replied San Miniato.

"It is precisely for her sake that I would like to do away with the things I have named." "You might just leave a little of each for Sundays!" suggested the young girl.
"Beatrice!" exclaimed her mother..