"But surely you'll cast just a glance at them ... It won't take long. They are said to be very handsome."
"Why, who?" Fanshaw was suddenly very agitated. Think, if after all these years ... Of course, an interesting thing to see for once; sociological study. "What do you mean? I don't understand," he said.
His companion burst out laughing.
"The little ladies of Palermo, of course ... Come along, everything's arranged."
"All right." Of course, just a glimpse, to see what a place like that was like. Nobody could know, he'd never see this Frenchman again.
They followed the sallowfaced man up a steep dark street. Fanshaw looked up at the sky that was bubbling with stars. The bright streak overhead narrowed as the cornices of the houses drew together. The street was empty. Once a cat brushed past his legs. At last they stood panting on the broad stepping-stone in front of a door. The guide's three knocks resounded hollowly.
"Such calm," whispered le Capitaine Eustache de la Potinière in Fanshaw's ear, slipping a hand under his arm. "At such moments I admit that I am rather agitated always. I congratulate you on your calm."
The guide knocked again. Somewhere up the street a rooster crowed.
"It must be midnight," said the French captain.
The door opened softly. A fatfaced woman stood in the hallway holding a taper above her head, and stared at them searchingly through narrowed eyes. She and the guide talked in low hurried Sicilian.