And she offered him her hand.
“No,” he said, “you struck me here, in the face. My cheek is still burning. I won’t accept your hand.”
“Poor cheek!” she said, teasingly. “Poor prince! Did I hit hard?”
“Yes.”
“How can I extinguish that burning?”
He looked at her, still breathing hard, and flushed, with glittering carbuncle eyes:
“You’re a bigger coquette than any Italian woman.”
She laughed:
“With a kiss?” she asked.