"To Viareggio, Monsieur. And you?"
"I don't know yet. I am still undecided. Perhaps to Vichy. You will remain in Italy?"
"Probably this year. I am not over well, and I don't wish to do anything fatiguing. How dreadfully hot it is already! One can't sleep. I ought to have got out the hair mattresses."
Madame sighed. Monsieur sighed louder. They both seemed extremely unhappy, she on account of the heat, he because he didn't know what to do with himself for the summer.
"I'm sure there's going to be an earthquake," said Marianna, by way of comfort, as she brought them their tea.
The old gentleman, who for some time had been casting tender looks at Marianna, fixed his little blue eyes on her and said—
"How many cups, Mademoiselle, have you distributed in your life? When I see you without one in your hand your little figure seems to me incomplete."
But Mademoiselle was out of humour, and would neither talk nonsense nor listen to it. Even she was oppressed by the heat. Passing near Regina, she said, in a stage whisper—
"For every cup of tea I have handed he has lost a lock of his hair!"