“No.”
“What, then?”
She was silent.
He smiled. “Ah, well, it does not matter. You can come to the pavilion on Monday at five and sit to the evening class for a week. You understand? Wait a minute.” He went to the door and called one of the young men in from the garden.
“Here is a new model, Mario. I have engaged her for the evening class. What do you think of her?”
“Carina assai,” approved Mario. He was a round-faced, snub-nosed youth with clever brown eyes set very far apart, and a humorous mouth. “Carina assai!” he repeated.
“Fifteen soldi the hour, from five to seven-thirty,” said the professor. “Come a little before the time on Monday; the porter will show you what costume you must wear and I shall be there to pose you.”
“Now I shall take you to M’sieur Michelin,” Rosina said when they had left Varini’s. “He is looking for a type, and perhaps you will please him. He is strano, but good always, and he pays well.”
“It is not tiring you?”
“Ma che! I must see that you begin well and with the right people. Some painters are canaglia. Ah, I know that,” the girl said with a little sigh and a shrug of her shoulders.