“Che simpatica!”
It was the Marchesino’s voice, breathing the words through a sigh: “Che simpatica Signorina!” Then an idea seemed to occur to him, and he looked at his friend reproachfully. “And you knew the girl with the perfect little nose, Emilio—all the time you knew her!”
“And all the time you knew I knew her!” retorted Artois.
They looked at each other in the eyes and burst out laughing.
“Emilio, you are the devil! I will never forgive you. You do not trust me.”
“Caro amico, I do trust you—always to fall in love with every girl you meet. But”—and his voice changed—“the Signorina is a child. Remember that, Doro.”
They were going down the steps to the sea. Almost as Artois spoke they reached the bottom, and saw their boat floating in the moonlight nearly in the centre of the Pool. The Marchesino stood still.
“My dear Emilio,” he said, staring at Artois with his great round eyes, “you make me wonder whether you know women.”
Artois felt amused.
“Really?” he said.