"How they wave their arms," said the younger lady, and the fat man, catching his breath, explained:
"It is the fault of their language. It is poor and requires gestures."
"O Lord!" said the elder lady, with a deep sigh. Then after a pause she inquired:
"Are there many museums in Genoa?"
"I understand there are three," answered the fat man.
"And a cemetery?" asked the younger lady.
"Campo Santo? And churches, of course."
"Are the cabmen as bad as in Naples?" "As bad as in Moscow."
The red-haired man and the man with the side-whiskers rose and moved away from the gunwale, talking together earnestly and interrupting one another.
"What is the Italian saying?" asked the lady, adjusting her gorgeous headdress. Her elbows were pointed, her ears large and yellow, like faded leaves. The fat man listened attentively and obediently to the animated talk of the curly-headed Italian.