"For the last time.... Don't you agree that we ought to be partners in the same firm?"
Irene smiled.
"No. Anything but that. Say good-night nicely like an Englishman and go."
Lewis saw before him the abyss of the staircase. He took a few steps and then with French impudence he turned and said:—
"I hate going like this. Give me something to take away, something that belongs to you. Not a handkerchief, it's unlucky. I know, give me your camisole. I'll keep it in my pocket book in memory of you."
She looked at him in bewilderment. She had never met a man like him before.
"At least tell me of someone in Paris who loves you and knows you well, to whom I can talk about you."
"I don't know anyone in Paris."
"Well, then, promise me one thing, before going back to Trieste you will ring me up ... Ségur 5555. It's quite easy to remember."
With flaming cheeks and steady eyes Irene stood on the landing and signed to him that she did not want to talk any more.