but first of all tell me what she’s like! I’m dying of curiosity to meet her. She’s not receiving yet?”

“Uh, no. Poor things just found a house a few days ago. You’ll see her at the banquet.”

“Give me a light,” Dora said, “and then answer me frankly.”

She lit her cigarette, bending over and leaning her face toward the match held by Raceni; then, in a cloud of smoke, she asked: “Are you in love with her?”

“Are you crazy?” Raceni fired back. “Don’t make me angry.”

“A little plain, then?” Signora Barmis observed.

Raceni did not reply. He crossed one leg over the other; he looked up at the ceiling; he closed his eyes.

“Oh, no, darling!” Signora Barmis exclaimed. “We’ll get nothing done like that. You came to me for help. First you have to satisfy my curiosity.”

“Well, I’m sorry!” Raceni snorted again, relaxing somewhat. “Those are some questions you’re asking!”

“I understand,” Signora Barmis said. “It’s either one thing or the other: either you truly are in love or she must be really ugly, as they say in Milan. Come on now, tell me: how does she dress? Badly, without a doubt!”

“Rather badly. Inexperienced, you understand.”

“I see, I see,” repeated Signora Barmis. “Shall we say a ruffled duckling?”

She opened her mouth, wrinkled her nose, and pretended to laugh, with her throat.

“Wait,” she went over to him. “You’re losing your pin. My goodness, how have you knotted this tie?”

“Oh,” Raceni began. “With all that . . .”

He stopped. Dora’s face was too close. Concentrating on his tie, she felt herself being watched. When she finished she gave him a little tap on his nose, and with an indefinable smile: “Well, then?” she asked him. “We were saying … ah, Signora Roncella! You don’t like duckling? Little monkey, then.”

“You’re wrong,” retorted Raceni. “She’s pretty enough, I assure you. Not striking, perhaps; but her eyes are exceptional!”

“Dark?”

“No, blue, intense, very gentle. And a sad smile, intelligent. She must be very very nice, that’s all.”

Dora Barmis attacked: “Nice you said? Nice? Go on! The person who wrote House of Dwarves can’t be nice, I assure you.”

“And yet . . .” Raceni said.

“I assure you!” Dora repeated. “That woman goes well armed, you can be certain!”

Raceni smiled.

“She must have a character sharp as a knife,” continued Signora Barmis.