The Signora shook her head. "_Non capisco. Ma quelle, balordaggini ed intormentimente, che sono si non segni manifesti d'amore_?"
"I don't understand, marm, a single word of that."
The Signora smiled. The Senator took courage again.
"The fact is this, marm," said he, firmly; "I want to get my clothes washed somewhere. Of course you don't do it, but you can tell me, you know. Hm?"
"_Non capisco_."
"Madame," said he, feeling confident that she would understand that word at least, and thinking, too, that it might perhaps serve as a key to explain any other words which he might append to it. "My clothes--I want to get them washed--laundress--washy--soap and water--clean 'em all up--iron 'em--hang 'em out to dry. Ha?"
While saying this he indulged in an expressive pantomine. When alluding to his clothes he placed his hands against his chest, when mentioning the drying of them he waved them in the air. The landlady comprehended this. How not? When a gentleman places his hand on his heart, what is his meaning?
"_O sottigliezza d'amore_!" murmured she. "_Che cosa cerca_," she continued, looking up timidly but invitingly.
The Senator felt doubtful at this, and in fact a little frightened. Again he placed his hands on his chest to indicate his clothes; he struck that manly chest forcibly several times, looking at her all the time. Then he wrung his hands.
