"Eh! I am an old woman. What would you have? Am I crazy that I should not like money? But Signor Gouache is a very good gentleman. He pays well, thank Heaven!"
"What does he pay you for?"
"What for? For his lodging—for his coffee. Bacchus! What should he pay
me for? Strange question in truth. Do I keep a shop? I keep lodgings.
But perhaps you like the place? It is a fine situation—just in the
Corso and only one flight of stairs, a beautiful position for the
Carnival. Of course, if you are inclined to pay more than Signor
Gouache, I do not say but what—-"
"I do not want your lodgings, my good woman," returned Giovanni in gentler tones. "I want to know who comes to see your lodger."
"Who should come? His friends of course. Who else?"
"A lady, perhaps," said Giovanni in a thick voice. It hurt him to say it, and the words almost stuck in his throat. "Perhaps a lady comes sometimes," he repeated, pulling out some loose bank notes.
The old woman's filmy eyes suddenly twinkled in the gloom. The sound of the crisp pieces of paper was delightful to her ear.
"Well," she said after a moment's hesitation, "if a beautiful lady does come here, that is the Signore's affair. It is none of my business."
Giovanni thrust the notes into her palm, which was already wide open to receive them. His heart beat wildly.
"She is beautiful, you say?"