"I sleep in a north room myself."
"You are an Italian, marchesa, and you're used to it."
"I'm very sorry, but I have no rooms facing south."
"Then I'm sorry too, marchesa, but I must look out somewhere else."
Cornélie turned as though to go away. The choice of a room sometimes means the choice of a life.
The marchesa caught hold of her hand and smiled. She had abandoned her cool tone and her voice was all honey:
"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, displaying through the open casements a lofty and spacious view of the sky, out-spread 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."