"We were far more comfortable in our little state-rooms on the ship than we shall ever be in this damp palace!" said Angela, shivering. "This room feels like a cellar. Do they never have any fires here?"
"Yes, behold the fireplace!" I replied, drawing aside a screen and revealing a small hole in the wall. "We will bask in the warmth of a cheerful blaze this evening, and toast our toes before the glowing coals."
As luck would have it, the chimney did not draw well, probably not having been used in this century, and so instead of a cheerful blaze we had clouds of smoke, and went to bed to dream of snow-storms and icebergs.
February 20th.
I awoke to hear the rain beating against my window and Angela's merry voice at my side, saying, "Such an experience! Zelphine rang our bell, thinking that she would have a fire or smoke or something to take off the deadly chill from our room. In a minute there came a knock at the door, and instead of the chambermaid there stood a grand gentleman in a blue coat and brass buttons, with a breakfast-tray—the proprietor or head waiter, I should say. We hadn't the courage to say a word about fire to this dignified person. Indeed, he gave us no time to say anything, as he set the tray on a table beside the bed, and vanished with 'Madame est servie.' Of course Z. is the madame; I don't count, being jeune fille. Such manners Z. says she has seldom seen in a ballroom at home. So now, Margaret, the breakfast is there and must be eaten. Do order yours, and let us breakfast together."
"A kimono déjeuner à trois," I said, laughing over Angela's ignorance of Continental ways, to which I had become quite accustomed during my art winter in Paris with Katharine Clarke.
"A second ring may fetch the maid and fire," said Angela, pressing the button.
This, however, only served to bring the blue-coated waiter, with another tray of coffee and rolls. It was some time before we were able to get the maid, who, in turn, sent for the facchino who attends to the fires, and he, assisted by another facchino, finally succeeded in fanning into a blaze the infinitesimal quantity of wood used here for a fire. This "house that Jack built" distribution of labor is rather puzzling to the uninitiated. We are wondering how we shall ever compass the problem of fees, so many people are serving us.
"I don't wonder that Eugene Field sang with longing of the 'land of stoves and sunshine,'" said Zelphine, as she held her hands over the feeble flame, "if he ever stayed in Genoa in February."
This is the nearest approach to a complaint that Zelphine has uttered since we left New York. She accepts everything that comes to us, good, bad, or indifferent, as a part of the game. We breakfasted heartily, calling for more rolls and boiled eggs, to the evident but entirely well-bred astonishment of the presiding genius, who was not accustomed to such early morning appetites.