“We must know, however, with whom she wishes to go—with you or with me?”
I turned to the Italian, who did not even seem to be listening to us, and said:
“We shall be very happy to have you with us, but my friend wishes to know whether you will take my arm or his?”
She opened her black eyes wide with vague surprise, and said, “Che ni fa?”
I was obliged to explain myself. “In Italy, I believe, when a man looks after a woman, fulfils all her wishes, and satisfies all her caprices, he is called a patito. Which of us two will you take for your patito?”
Without the slightest hesitation she replied:
“You!”
I turned to Paul. “You see, my friend, she chooses me; you have no chance.”
“All the better for you,” he replied in a rage. Then, after thinking for a few moments, he went on:
“Do you really care about taking this creature with you? She will spoil our journey. What are we to do with this woman, who looks like I don't know what? They will not take us in at any decent hotel.”