Maryska, meanwhile, stood up ready to go to the wine-shop.
III
Faber took off his hat at the entrance to the cavern, and blinked in the darkness. He saw a handsome man squatting on the floor, and behind him a pair of eyes which glowed as a cat's. They belonged to Maryska; but he did not know, indeed, he wondered if there were wild beasts in the place.
"Say, does anyone named Louis de Paleologue live here?"
The accent transplanted father and daughter to New York in an instant. What years they had lived there! How they regretted them!
"He does, sir, and what then?"
"You are Mr. Paleologue?"
"That is so. My daughter—she doesn't bite—at least, only me!"
Maryska's teeth were to be counted on the instant. She laughed as the Italians laugh, without reservations.
"Accidenti!" she cried, and then coming out into the light, "caro mio—he is too tough, poppa, I should spoil my teeth!"