“Voici ce fameux Colisée, ce cirque épatant, où les malheureux chrétiens⸺”
Irene was so annoyed, that she cried out, and even shook her umbrella at him. The guide cut short his eloquence, and turned away grumbling. Irene suddenly felt ashamed. She followed the poor old man and offered him money, but the proud Roman refused. Cursing Irene and all her relations and friends, and expressing the wish that her first-born might be burnt in hell, he withdrew with dignity.
Irene turned round. The tall Russian had been watching the scene with interest. They looked at each other, and both involuntarily laughed.
“What a good thing you drove away that old parrot!” said the stranger. “These guides simply spoil Italy for foreigners. I am sure tourists would willingly pay a tax for their benefit, only to be rid of them, and to be allowed to admire Italy’s treasures in peace. I am always positively wild with rage when they begin to declaim, and to offer me elementary information that we all acquired years ago at school!”
Irene listened sympathetically, and suddenly realized with astonishment that the stranger was addressing her in Russian. How could he have found out that she was Russian!
The speaker noticed her surprise, and smiled.
“I had the pleasure of seeing you in your pension,” he explained, “I went there to see Anna Sergeievna Boutourina.”
“Oh! Do you know Anna Sergeievna? Isn’t she a charming old lady?”