Page 23

Calla del Rimedio, Calle Larga, Piazza San Marco and, passing the Procuratie, here we are in front of the best florist in Venice. I look in the window and smile at the man intent on sprinkling a bouquet of red roses. 

"Her flowers are really beautiful!" I say entering. 

"I do my best," he says proudly. 

"Too bad they only last for a morning, as that French poet said," I sighed.

"Yeah. Our job is difficult." 

"I would appreciate your help: I need a beautiful bouquet of flowers that are - inexpensive - and won't wilt. At half price, of course." 

"Wow," the florist smiled. "If all the clients made me this same offer, I would quickly go bankrupt."

But this is a special case: we want to find a really nice bouquet for ... for 500 lire."

"500 lire? Hmmm, a little bit, Signorima Ivancich."

"How do you know my name? "I said surprised. I didn't remember ever having gone to the most expensive florist in Venice." 

"I see her pass by every now and then. Among us Venetians it is not difficult to know each other, at least by name."

Antonio coughed. Good start, it means. 

The florist approached the bouquet of red roses - and I am already smiling happily - he pushes it aside and takes a bouquet of yellow daisies. 

"Oh no! Not daisies for a queen" says Antonio. 

"Queen?" says the florist and turns to look at us. "Wow."

"She is not a queen, but Princess Aspasia" I inform him. 

"The one on the Giudecca? I know, I know. Then I would say fewer flowers, but distinct. Two orchids?"

"Good advice!" I smile. "Two of those..." 

"But, my dear paronsina*, those are purple orchids,...

* an obscure word which seems to mean an unmarried daughter living at home.