In such ways did I make this girl my own, in the hope that for the remnant of my days she would be mine, and so I should not be forced to fly from one lady to another. But inexorable fate ordained it otherwise.
The weather grew fine again, and we got on board once more, and the next day arrived at Genoa, which I had never seen before. I put up at “St. Martin’s Inn,” and for decency’s sake took two rooms, but they were adjoining one another. The following day I sent the packet to M. Grimaldi, and a little later I left my card at his palace.
My guide took me to a linen-draper’s, and I bought some stuff for Rosalie, who was in want of linen. She was very pleased with it.
We were still at table when the Marquis Grimaldi was announced; he kissed me and thanked me for bringing the parcel. His next remark referred to Madame Stuard. I told him what had happened, and he laughed, saying that he was not quite sure what he would have done under the circumstances.
I saw him looking at Rosalie attentively, and I told him she was as good as she was beautiful.
“I want to find her a maid,” I said, “a good seamstress, who could go out with her, and above all who could talk Italian to her, for I want her to learn the language that I may take her into society at Florence, Rome and Naples.”
“Don’t deprive Genoa of the pleasure of entertaining her,” said the marquis. “I will introduce her under whatever name she pleases, and in my own house to begin with.”
“She has good reasons for preserving her incognito here.”
“Ah, I see!—Do you think of staying here long?”
“A month, or thereabouts, and our pleasures will be limited to seeing the town and its surroundings and going to the theatre. We shall also enjoy the pleasures of the table. I hope to eat champignons every day, they are better here than anywhere else.”