“Are you a Pole?” inquired the traveller.
“A fine demand! how can I be a Pole? Did you not say yourself there was no longer any such country as Poland?”
“I? not that I recollect.”
“If you did not say it, confess at least that you thought it. The Poles are all become Russians, and for nothing in the world, Signor, would I be a Russian. Why in all their language they have no word that expresses honour.[[6]] No! rather than be a Russian, much as I hate it, I would go with Giorgio.”
[6]. This is true. The Russian language is without that word.
“Are you an Italian?”
“No—not exactly.”
“What are you, then?”
“Um! I am what I am; who can be more? But, Signor, one thing I must beg of you, do not ask me any questions about myself, nor any about Giorgio. I will sing to you, talk to you, wait upon you—anything of that kind you please, but I will not answer questions on those subjects.”