"You can't have them," she interrupted; "geniuses never oil their hair as you do." "It's oiled, signora, isn't it?"
"I—don't know," said Regina, "I think not."
"Ah, poor dear! you haven't found it out! You'll never find anything out."
"How silly she is!" thought Regina.
And again she fancied that the young lady read her thoughts.
"Oh, you're thinking me a fool!" she said; "but listen here. I've forgotten to tell you something I always tell people when I meet them first."
"We know what it is," interjected Massimo and Antonio; but Marianna went on—
"Once, seven years ago, at Odessa, the house I was living in went on fire. I was in a top room, all hemmed in by flames—impossible to get me out. The smoke was already blinding and stifling me, and I heard the roar of the flames quite close. I believed in God no more then than now; however, I did feel the need of recourse to some supernatural being, some occult or omnipotent power. So I made a vow. I promised if I were saved, I would henceforth always speak the truth. At that moment the floor fell in. I lost my senses; and when I came to, I found myself safe and sound in the arms of a most hideous fireman. 'How have you managed it?' I asked. 'Like this,' he answered, and told how he had rescued me at great peril of his life. 'Oh, very well,' I said, 'I suspect you're exaggerating; but I'm grateful, all the same, and I'll always remember you; the more vividly that your ugliness is quite unforgettable.'"
Regina laughed. "I seem to be reading a Russian story," she said.
"But is that little tale true?" asked Massimo; and Antonio added—