“Allow me to offer you mine,” said I. It was a white handkerchief, and scented with attar of roses; this latter circumstance gave her an excuse for accepting it, but after smelling it she wanted to return it to me.
“You have not used it,” said I, “do so.”
She obeyed, and then returned it to me with a bow by way of thanks.
“You must not give it me back, fair Agatha, till you have had it washed.”
She smiled, and gave it to her mother, glancing at me in a grateful manner, which I considered of good omen.
“May I have the pleasure of calling on you?” said I. “I cannot receive you, sir, except in the presence of my landlady.”
“This cursed restriction is general in Turin, then?”
“Yes, the superintendent uses everybody in the same way.”
“Then I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again here?”
In the evening I had one of the best suppers I ever had in my life, if I except those I enjoyed during my stay at Turin. My cook was worthy of a place in the kitchen of Lucullus; but without detracting from his skill I must do justice to the products of the country. Everything is delicious; game, fish, birds, meat, vegetables, fruit, milk, and truffles—all are worthy of the table of the greatest gourmets, and the wines of the country yield to none. What a pity that strangers do not enjoy liberty at Turin! It is true that better society, and more politeness, such as are found in several French and Italian towns, are to be wished for.