hard to be a good second waiter. He was a member of the Order. The Gran Maestro served adroitly and with respect both for the food, and those that were to eat it.
“Now eat,” he said.
“Uncork that Valpolicella,” he said to the boy who had the eyes of an unbelieving spaniel.
“What do you have on that character?” the Colonel asked him, referring to his pitted compatriot, sitting chawing at his food, while the elderly woman with him ate with suburban grace.
“You should tell me. Not me you.”
“I never saw him before today,” the Colonel said. “He’s hard to take with food.”
“He condescends to me. He speaks bad Italian assiduously. He goes everywhere in Baedeker, and he has no taste in either food or wine. The woman is nice. I believe she is his aunt. But I have no real information.”
“He looks like something we could do without.”
“I believe we could. In a pinch.”
“Does he speak of us?”
“He asked me who you were. He was familiar with the Contessa’s name and had book-visited several palaces that had belonged to the family. He was impressed by your name, Madam, which I gave to impress him.”
“Do you think he will put us in a book?”
“I’m sure of it. He puts everything in a book.”
“We ought to be in a book,” the Colonel said. “Would you mind, Daughter?”
“Of course not,” the girl said. “But I’d rather Dante wrote it.”
