Carlo Botta soon appeared at the door.
When he learned that the man before him was Count Costantino, a figure of some influence in politics, he hurried to invite him into momentarily into the villa with great courtesy.
Count Costantino sat down on the sofa, and asked curiously, "Mr. Botta, it seems someone just made you angry?"
At those words, Botta's face turned red again. He turned and fetched a book from his study, threw it in front of the other, and gritted his teeth: "Look at this! Do you see what those arrogant and ignorant Milan people are saying?
"They actually claim to be the arts center of the Apennine, declaring there's no true art anywhere else.
"Oh, and they say that the Tuscan language is only spoken by country bumpkins, while Lombard is the only truly elegant language. Hmph, all they did was to steal a few French words. It's nothing but a mongrel language!"
Count Costantino, somewhat surprised, picked up the book. On the cover were gilded words: Great Milan.
