“Do eat, please, Mr. Toppi. Why do you not drink, Mr. Wondergood? The wine is splendid.”
In the course of what followed:
1. She breathed—
2. She blinked—
3. She ate—
and she was a beautiful girl, about eighteen years of age, and her dress was white and her throat bare. It was really laughable. I gazed at her bare neck and—believe me, my earthly friend: I am not easily seduced, I am not a romantic youth, but I am not old by any means, I am not at all bad looking, I enjoy an independent position in the world and—don’t you like the combination: Satan and Maria ? Maria and Satan! In evidence of the seriousness of my intentions I can submit at that moment I thought more of our descendants and sought a name for our first-born than indulged in frivolity.
Suddenly Toppi’s Adam’s apple gave a jerk and he inquired hoarsely:
“Has any one ever painted your portrait, Signorina?”
“Maria never poses for painters!” broke in Magnus sternly. I felt like laughing at the fool Toppi. I had already opened wide my mouth, filled with a set of first-class American teeth, when Maria’s pure gaze pierced my eyes and everything flew to the devil,—as in that moment of the railway catastrophe! You understand: she turned me inside out, like a stocking—or how shall I put it? My fine Parisian costume was driven inside of me and my still finer thoughts which, however, I would not have wanted to convey to the lady, suddenly appeared upon the surface. With all my secrecy I was left no more sealed than a room in a fifteen cent lodging house.
But she forgave me, said nothing and threw her gaze like a projector in the direction of Toppi, illumining his entire body. You, too, would have laughed had you seen how this poor old devil was set aglow and aflame by this gaze—clear from the prayer book to the fishbone with which he nearly choked to death.
Fortunately for both of us Magnus arose and invited us to follow him into the garden.
“Come, let us go into the garden,” said he. “Maria will show you her favorite flowers.”