y when she had finished what she had,
so as soon as her frugal meal was over, I said to her:

"It would be very kind of you if you would take some of this fruit."

Again she said "_Mica_," but less crossly than before.

"Well, then," I said, "may I offer you a little wine? I see you have not
drunk anything. It is Italian wine, and as we are now in your own
country, we should be very pleased to see such a pretty Italian mouth
accept the offer of its French neighbors."

She shook her head slightly, evidently wishing to refuse, but very
desirous of accepting, and her mica _this_ time was almost polite. I
took the bottle, which was covered with straw in the Italian fashion,
and filling the glass I offered it to her.

"Please drink it," I said, "to bid us welcome to your country."

She took the glass with her usual look, and emptied it at a draught,
like a woman tormented with thirst, and then gave it back to me without
even saying "Thank you."

Then I offered her the cherries. "Please take some," I said; "we shall
be so pleased if you will."

Out of her corner she looked at all the fruit spread out before her, and
said so rapidly that I could scarcely follow her: "_A me non piacciono
ne le ciliegie ne le susine; amo soltano le fragole_."

"What does she say?" Paul asked.

"That she does not care for cherries or plums, but only for
strawberries."

I put a newspaper full of wild strawberries on her lap, and she ate them
quickly, throwing them into her mouth from some distance in a coquettish
and charming manner.

When she had finished the little red heap which we had seen rapidly
diminishing, crushed and disappearing under the rapid action of her
hands, I asked her:

"What may I offer you now?"

"I will take a little chicken," she replied.

She certainly devoured half of it, tearing it to pieces with the rapid
movements of her jaws like some carnivorous animal. Then she made up her
mind to have some cherries, which she "did not like," then some plums,
then some little cakes. Then she said, "I have had enough," and sat back
in her corner.

I was much amused, and tried to make her eat more, pressing her, in
fact, till she suddenly got in a rage again, and flung such a furious
_mica_ at me, that I would no longer run the risk of spoiling her
digestion.

I turned to my friend. "My poor Paul," I said, "I am afraid we have had
our trouble for nothing."

The night came on, one of those hot summer nights which