"Italian? A fellow-countryman of the king?"
"Yes."
"Do you know him, sir?"
"By sight!"
"They say he is a handsome young fellow."
I did not answer, and she began to laugh, and asked me, "What are you looking at, sir?" and, still laughing, she hid her foot, which on taking her seat she thrust well forward that I might see it. Ah! there is not a woman in that country who does not know that the feet of the Andalusians are famous throughout the world.
I seized the opportunity of turning the conversation upon the fame of the Andalusian women, and expressed my admiration in the most fervent words of my vocabulary. She allowed me to talk on, looking with great attention at the crack in the table, then raising her face, she asked me, "And in Italy, how are the women there?"
"Oh, there are beautiful women in Italy too."
"But ... they are cold?"
"Oh no, not at all," I hastened to respond; "but, you know, ... in every country the women have an I-know-not-what which distinguishes them from the women of all other countries; and among them all the I-know-not-what of the Andalusians is probably the most dangerous for a poor traveller whose hairs have not turned gray. There is a word to express what I mean: if I could remember it, I would say it to you; I would say, "Señorita, you are the most ..."