She had neither turned her head nor looked at me, and I really did not
know whether to take this "What does it matter to me" for an
authorization, a refusal, a real sign of indifference, or for a mere
"Leave me alone."
"Madame," I replied, "if you mind the smell of tobacco in the least--"
She again said, "_Mica_,"[8] in a tone of voice which seemed to mean, "I
wish to goodness you would leave me alone!" It was, however, a kind of
permission, so I said to Paul:
"You can smoke."
He looked at me in that curious sort of way that people have when they
try to understand others who are talking in a strange language before
them, and asked me:
"What did you say to her?"
"I asked if we might smoke, and she said we might do whatever we liked."
Whereupon I lighted my cigar.
"Did she not say anything more?"
"If you had counted her words you would have noticed that she used
exactly six, two of which gave me to understand that she knew no French,
so four remained, and a lot can be said in four words."
Paul seemed quite unhappy, disappointed, and "at sea," so to speak.
But suddenly the Italian asked me, in that tone of discontent which
seemed habitual to her, "Do you know at what time we shall get to
Genoa?"
"At eleven o'clock," I replied. Then after a moment I went on:
"My friend and I are also going to Genoa, and if we can be of any
service to you, we shall be very happy, as you are quite alone." But she
interrupted with such a "_Mica_" that I did not venture on another word.
"What did she say?" Paul asked.
"She said that she thought you were charming."
But he was in no humor for joking, and begged me, dryly, not to make
fun of him, so I translated her question and my polite offer, which had
been so rudely rejected.
Then he really became as agitated as a squirrel in a cage.
"If we only knew," he said, "what hotel she was going to, we would go to
the same. Try and find out, so as to have another opportunity for making
her speak."
It was not particularly easy, and I did not know what pretext to invent,
anxious as I was to make the acquaintance of this unapproachable person.
We passed Nice, Monaco, Mentone, and the train stopped at the frontier
for the examination of luggage.
Although I hate those badly brought-up people who breakfast and dine in
railway-carriages, I went and bought a quantity of good things to make
one last attack on her by their means. I felt sure that this girl must,
ordinarily, be by no means inaccessible. Something had put her out and
made her irritable, but very little would suffice, a mere word or some
agreeable offer, to decide her and overcome her.
We started again, and we three were still alone. I spread my eatables
out on the seat. I cut up the fowl, put the slices of ham neatly on a
piece of paper, and then carefully laid out our dessert, the
strawberries, plums, cherries, and cakes, close to the girl.
When she saw that we were going to eat she took a piece of chocolate and
two little crisp cakes out of her pocket and began to munch them.
"Ask her to have some of ours," Paul said in a whisper.
"That is exactly what I want to do, but it is rather a difficult
matter."
As she, however, glanced from time to time at our provisions, I felt
sure that she would still be hungry when she had finished what she had,
so as soon as her frugal meal was over, I said to her:
"It would be very kind of you if you would take some of this fruit."
Again she said "_Mica_," but less crossly than before.
"Well, then," I said, "may I offer you a little wine? I see you have not
drunk anything. It is Italian wine, and as we are now in your own
country, we should be very pleased to see such a pretty Italian mouth
accept the offer of its French neighbors."
She shook her head slightly, evidently wishing to refuse, but very
desirous of accepting, and her mica _this_ time was almost polite. I
took the bottle, which was covered with straw in the Italian fashion,
and filling the glass I offered it to her.
"Please drink it," I said, "to bid us welcome to your country."
She took the glass with her usual look, and emptied it at a draught,
like a woman tormented with thirst, and then gave it back to me without
even saying "Thank you."
Then I offered her the cherries. "Please take some," I said; "we shall
be so pleased if you will."
Out of her corner she looked at all the fruit spread out before her, and
said so rapidly that I could scarcely follow her: "_A me non piacciono
ne le ciliegie ne le susine; amo soltano le fragole_."
"What does she say?" Paul asked.
"That she does not care for cherries or plums, but only for
strawberries."
I put a newspaper full of wild strawberries on her lap, and she ate them
quickly, throwing them into her mouth from some distance in a coquettish
and charming manner.
When she had finished the little red heap which we had seen rapidly
diminishing, crushed and disappearing under the rapid action of her
hands, I asked her:
"What may I offer you now?"
"I will take a little chicken," she replied.
She certainly devoured half of it, tearing it to pieces with the rapid
movements of her jaws like some carnivorous animal. Then she made up her
mind to have some cherries, which she "did not like," then some plums,
then some little cakes. Then she said, "I have had enough," and sat back
in her corner.
I was much amused, and tried to make her eat more, pressing her, in
fact, till she suddenly got in a rage again, and flung such a furious
_mica_ at me, that I would no longer run the risk of spoiling her
digestion.
I turned to my friend. "My poor Paul," I said, "I am afraid we have had
our trouble for nothing."
The night came on, one of those hot summer nights which extend their
warm shade over the burning and exhausted earth. Here and there, in the
distance by the sea on capes and promontories, bright stars began to
shine on the dark horizon, which I was, at times, almost inclined to
confound with lighthouses.
The scent of the orange-trees became more penetrating, and we breathed
with delight, distending our lungs to inhale it more deeply. The balmy
air was soft, delicious, almost divine.
Suddenly I noticed something like a shower of stars under the dense
shade of the trees along the line, where it was quite dark. It might
have been taken for drops of light, leaping, flying, playing and running
among the leaves, or for small stars fallen from the skies in order to
have an excursion on the earth; but they were only fireflies dancing a
strange fiery ballet in the perfumed air.
One of them happened to come into our carriage, and shed its
intermittent light, which seemed to be extinguished one moment and to be
burning the next. I covered the carriage-lamp with its blue shade, and
watched the strange fly careering about in its fiery flight. Suddenly it
settled on the dark hair of our neighbor, who was half dozing after
dinner. Paul seemed delighted, with his eyes fixed on the bright,
sparkling spot which looked like a living jewel on the forehead of the
sleeping woman.
The Italian woke up at about eleven o'clock, with the bright insect
still in her hair. When I saw her move, I said: "We are just getting to
Genoa, madam," and she murmured, without answering me, as if possessed
by some obstinate and embarrassing thought:
"What am I going to do, I wonder?"
And then she suddenly asked:
"Would you like me to come with you?"