Paul seemed quite unhappy, disappointed, and "at sea," so to speak.
But suddenly the Italian asked me, in that tone of discontent which seemed habitual to her, "Do you know at what time we shall get to Genoa?"
"At eleven o'clock," I replied. Then after a moment I went on:
"My friend and I are also going to Genoa, and if we can be of any service to you, we shall be very happy, as you are quite alone." But she interrupted with such a "Mica" that I did not venture on another word.
"What did she say?" Paul asked.
"She said that she thought you were charming."
But he was in no humor for joking, and begged me, dryly, not to make fun of him, so I translated her question and my polite offer, which had been so rudely rejected.
Then he really became as agitated as a squirrel in a cage.
"If we only knew," he said, "what hotel she was going to, we would go to the same. Try and find out, so as to have another opportunity for making her speak."
It was not particularly easy, and I did not know what pretext to invent, anxious as I was to make the acquaintance of this unapproachable person.