In the afternoon I bought some flowers. This bouquet will apologize for me, I thought as I headed towards Marcellina's palace. I can't apologize, say I'm sorry: that would be a lie. Because I don't mind having done what I did, on the contrary, there was another cover - urgent enough that I wouldn't go to lunch anymore. And you, bouquet, will tell Marcellina that she has every right to think what she wants of me but not to agitate mum. Poor mother who wanted me to be perfect.
Nervously, I rang the bell on the door, slowly climbed the flights of stairs that I had run down a few hours earlier. The waiter lead me to the living room on the left.
As soon as I entered my heart calmed down: sitting next to Marcellina, with a cup of tea in her hand, was Lella Typaldo. Dear Lella. Small, round, always smiling, she was a person of great culture and amiability, much loved by young people for her brilliant conversation and for her understanding. In her home on the Riva degli Schiavoni, countless frames were scattered on the furniture that enclosed famous personalities and royal families, in groups and in detail, all with affectionate dedications, of course.
As soon as she saw me Lella Typaldo smiled at me immediately, in French. "Te voila, ma petite*! Sit here in front of me... well, good. What beautiful flowers! I bet you brought these flowers to show that you are sorry for what happened last night... What a nice thought, is it not, Marcelline? Surely you have thought and understood that it is not always good to be impulsive in life. Especially if you want to keep a certain line, a certain class. And when you are rich in quality and gifts, like you little one, you have to control yourself even more, alas! I wish you success, with your covers, I admired the drawings you made for the Sidarma brochure, really funny, really funny! But why do you keep holding the flowers in your hand Come on, give them to Marcellina... that's it!
* French for "there you are my little one"
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