They arrived at Blankenberghe, and, leaving their luggage at the wagonette station, went in search of lodgings. These were soon found in a large attic at the top of a house, over a bakery. One little mansarde, with a truckle‑bed and wash‑hand stand, did for the family of Veronese; another, smaller still, for Barty.
Other mansardes also opened on to the large attic, or grenier, where there were sacks of grain and of flour, and a sweet smell of cleanliness. Barty wondered that such economical arrangements could suit his new friends, but was well pleased; a weight was taken off his mind. He feared a style of living he could not have afforded to share, and here were all difficulties smoothed away without any trouble whatever.
They got in their luggage, and Barty went with the signore in search of bread and meat and wine and ground coffee. When they got back, a little stove was ready lighted in the Veronese garret; they cooked the food in a frying‑pan, opening the window wide and closing the door, as the signore thought it useless to inform the world by the sense of smell that they did their cooking en famille; and Barty enjoyed the meal immensely, and almost forgot his trouble, but for the pain of his seton.
After lunch the signore produced his placards, already printed by hand, and made some paste in an iron pot, and the signora made coffee. And Veronese tuned his guitar and said:
"Jé vais vous canter couelquécose—una piccola cosa da niente!—vous comprenez l'Italien?"
"Oh yes," said Barty: he had picked up a deal of Italian and many pretty Italian canzonets from his friend old Pergolese, who kept the Italian eating‑house in Rupert Street. "Sing me a stornella—je les adore."
And he set himself to listen, with his heart in his mouth from sheer pleasurable anticipation.
The signore sang a pretty little song, by Gordigiani, called "Il vero amore." Barty knew it well.
"E lo mio amor è andato a soggiornare
A Lucca bella—e diventar signore...."
"E lo mio amor è andato a soggiornare
A Lucca bella—e diventar signore...."