"The cherished photograph on Monsieur's dresser! Oh, that is too much flattery. What would the Admiral think to hear you say such things to your housekeeper! Don Michael, you are young and you are headed for trouble. I beg of you to remember your ancestors."
"How about yours, Thusis?"
"Mine? Oh, they were poor Venetians. Probably they ran gondolas for the public—the taxis of those days, Don Michael—and lived on the tips they received."
"Thusis?"
"Monsieur?"
"I'd be grateful for a tip—if you don't mind."
"A tip?"
"Yes. Just a little one."
The girl held out her glass and I filled it with cool Moselle.
"You're such a nice boy," she said, and sipped her wine, looking at me all the while. She was so pretty that it hurt.