Bertrand said no more; he went into a corner and filled his pipe, and as it was growing dark, Auguste went to his landladies’ room to ask for a light. The old lady was absent, but her niece was there, and our Frenchman, overjoyed at the opportunity of a tête-à-tête with the fair Cecilia, sat down beside the young woman, who seemed less shy at home than on the street, and who replied with a smile to the soft avowals that he addressed to her. The conversation lasted until very late. Auguste forgot Bertrand, who was without a light; he was in a fair way to forget a great many things, but Signora Falenza returned and by her presence revived his memory. He went up to his own room; Bertrand had thrown himself on the bed and was asleep. Auguste did not think it best to wake him, and he too fell asleep, his mind full of the fascinating Cecilia’s image, convinced that he had never been more comfortably bedded.
Three days passed in the new lodgings. Auguste almost never went out; he watched for opportunities for a tête-à-tête with Cecilia; but the aunt was seldom absent and kept a much closer watch upon her niece. However, Auguste obtained a sweet avowal; he knew that he was beloved; but that was not enough, and Cecilia’s eyes seemed to promise him more.
Bertrand had become accustomed to his new quarters; but he said to his master every day:
“You came to Italy to study and work, monsieur; instead of doing that, you pass all your time running after our young landlady.”
“Cecilia is teaching me to speak Italian better, Bertrand; and I am teaching her French.”
“I don’t see what good this reciprocal teaching will do you.”
“Why, the pleasure of it, Bertrand—is that to be counted nothing?”
“Are we travelling for pleasure?”
“Not entirely; but, when it offers itself, why not make the most of it?”
“Remember, monsieur, that your pleasures have always cost you dear.”