"A little higher!" ordered the marchesa.
But the facchini strained their muscles in vain: the lift refused to stir.
"We can manage!" said the marchesa. "Wait a bit."
Taking a great stride, which revealed the enormous white-stockinged calf of her leg, she stepped on to the floor, smiled and gave her hand to Cornélie, who imitated her gymnastics.
"Here we are!" sighed the marchesa, with a smile of satisfaction. "This is your room."
She opened a door and showed Cornélie a bedroom. Though the sun was shining brightly out of doors, the room was as damp and chilly as a cellar.
"Marchesa," Cornélie said, without hesitation, "I wrote to you for two rooms facing south."
"Did you?" asked the marchesa, plausibly and ingeniously. "I really didn't remember. Yes, that is one of those foreigners' ideas: rooms facing south.... This is really a beautiful room."
"I'm sorry, but I can't accept this room, marchesa."
La Belloni grumbled a bit, went down the corridor and opened the door of another room: