“Davvero, that’s one of those foreigners’ ideas: rooms facing south! But I have two little kennels left. Here....”
And she quickly opened two doors, two snug little cupboards of rooms, which showed through the open windows a lofty and spacious view of the sky, outspread above the streets and roofs below, with the blue dome of St. Peter’s in the distance.
“These are the only rooms I have left facing south,” said the marchesa, plaintively.
“I shall be glad to have these, marchesa.”
“Sixteen lire,” smiled la Belloni.
“Ten, as you wrote.”
“I could put two persons in here.”
“I shall stay all the winter, if I am satisfied.”
“You must have your way!” the marchesa exclaimed, suddenly, in her sweetest voice, a voice of graceful surrender. “You shall have the rooms for twelve lire. Don’t let us discuss it any more. The rooms are yours. You are Dutch, are you not? We have a Dutch family staying here: a mother with two daughters and a son. Would you like to sit next to them at table?”
“No, I’d rather you put me somewhere else; I don’t care for my fellow-countrymen when travelling.”