Rafael seemed to meditate for a moment. Then as if an idea that had been dancing about in his head all day had just occurred to him, he said:
"Suppose we take a run down there!... What do you say, Cupido?"
"Down there!... And how'll we get there?"
But the proposal, from its very rashness, was bound to appeal to a man like the barber, who at length began to laugh, as if the adventure were a highly amusing one.
"You're right! We could get through! It will look funny, all right! Us two paddling up like a couple of Venetian gondoliers to serenade a celebrated prima donna in her fright ... I've a good mind to run home and fetch my guitar along ..."
"What the devil, Cupido! No guitar business! What a josher you are! Our job is to get those women out of there. They'll get drowned if we don't."
The barber, insisting on his romantic idea, fixed a pair of shrewd eyes on Rafael.
"I see! So you're interested in the illustrious artiste, too ... You rascal! You're smitten on her reputation for good looks ... But no ... I remember ... you've seen her; she told me so herself."
"She!... She spoke to you about me?"
"Oh, nothing important! She told me she saw you one afternoon up at the Hermitage."