“I am industrious.”
“You are also damn sagacious.”
The Gran Maestro was gone and the girl said, “He is a lovely man and I love how fond he is of you.”
“We are good friends,” the Colonel said. “I hope he has a good steak for you.”
“There is one very good steak,” the Gran Maestro said, reappearing.
“You take it, Daughter. I get them all the time at the mess. Do you want it rare?”
“Quite rare, please.”
“Al sangue,” the Colonel said, “as John said when he spoke to the waiter in French. Crudo, bleu, or just make it very rare.”
“It’s rare,” the Gran Maestro said. “And you, my Colonel?”
“The scaloppine with Marsala, and the cauliflower braised with butter. Plus an artichoke vinaigrette if you can find one. What do you want, Daughter?”
“Mashed potatoes and a plain salad.”
“You’re a growing girl.”
“Yes. But I should not grow too much nor in the wrong directions.”
“I think that handles it,” the Colonel said. “What about a fiasco of Valpolicella?”
“We don’t have fiascos. This is a good hotel, you know. It comes in bottles.”
“I forgot,” the Colonel said. “Do you remember when it cost thirty centesimi the liter?”
