Both together lifted the arm-chair, in which Amédée swung helpless and half unconscious, and put it down where he was able to inhale—in exchange for the tainted atmosphere of the passage—the varied stenches of the street. The coolness, however, revived him. Feeling in his waistcoat pocket, he pulled out the screw of five lire which he had prepared for Baptistin:
“Thank you very much. Please leave me now.”
The facchino went out.
“You oughtn’t to have given him such a lot,” said Carola.
She too used the familiar “thou,” which Amédée accepted as a custom of the country; his one thought now was to go to bed; but Carola showed no signs of leaving; then, carried away by politeness, he began to talk.
“You speak French as well as a Frenchwoman.”
“No wonder. I come from Paris. And you?”
“I come from the south.”
“I guessed as much. When I saw you, I said to myself, that gentleman comes from the provinces. Is it your first visit to Italy?”
“My first.”