"The sty,
here, will need some cleansing; since if these are to be my subjects,
I must do my best for them. It may not amount to much, but at least
my hogs shall keep themselves cleaner than some Corsicans, even than
some Corsican cooks."
"Stephanu," said Marc'antonio, gravely, "the Englishman meant that
for you: and I tell you what I have told you before, that yours are
no fitly kept hands for a cook. I have travelled abroad and seen the
ways of other nations."
"The sty will need mending too, Princess," said I: "but before
nightfall I will try to have it ready."
"You will find tools in the hut," she answered, with a glance at
Marc'antonio, who nodded. "For food, you shall be kept supplied.
Stephanu has brought, in his suck yonder, flesh, cheese, and wine
sufficient for three days, with milk for your friend: and day by day
fresh milk shall be sent down to you."
Her words were commonplace, yet her cheeks wore an angry flush
beneath their sun-burn; and I knew why. Her insult had miscarried.
In accepting this humiliation I had somehow mastered her: even the
tone she used, level and matter-of-fact, she used perforce, in place
of the high scorn with which she had started to sentence me.
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