"Se sall be your own maid. I haf sent for her."
"What, my own maid?—Dowlas?"
"I am ver sorry, but it is not dat one. It is anoder—an Italian."
"Well, I think that is very unkind, when you know I can't speak a word of the language. But you always do all you can to tease me. I wish I had never seen you."
Girasole looked hurt.
"Charming mees," said he, "I will lay down my life for you."
"But I don't want you to lay down your life. I want Dowlas."
"And you sall haf Dowlas to-morra. An' to-night you sall haf de Italian maid."
"Well, I suppose I must," said Minnie, resignedly.
"Miladi," said Girasole, turning to Mrs. Willoughby, "I am ver sorry for dis leetle accommodazion. De room where you mus go is de one where I haf put de man dat try to safe you. He is tied fast. You mus promis you will not loose him. Haf you a knife?"