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18

(1921) Author: Sigrid Undset
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“Thank you, but please do not trouble. I am sure to find
my way home somehow or other.”

“It is no trouble,” said the tall one, starting to walk; “it is
on our way.”

“It is very kind of you; I suppose it is rather difficult to find
one’s way about in Rome, is it not?” he said, by way of
conversation —“ especially when it is dark.”

“Oh no, you will soon get into it.”

“I only arrived here to-day. I came from Florence this
morning by train.” The smaller one said something in an
undertone in Italian. The tall one asked: “Was it very cold in
Florence?”

“Yes, bitterly cold. It is milder here, is it not? I wrote
my mother anyway yesterday to send my winter coat.”

“Well, it is cold enough here too sometimes. Did you like
Florence? How long were you there?”

“A fortnight. I think I shall like Rome better than
Florence.”

The other young girl smiled — she had been muttering to
herself in Italian all the time — but the tall one went on in her
pleasant, quiet voice:

“ I don’t believe there is any town one could love as much
as Rome.”

“Is your friend Italian?” asked Helge.

“No; Miss Jahrman is Norwegian. We speak Italian because
I want to learn, and she is very good at it. My name is
Winge,” she added. “That is the Cancellaria.” She pointed
towards a big, dark palace.

“Is the courtyard as fine as it is reported to be?”

“Yes; it is very fine. I will show you which car.” While
they stood waiting two men came across the street.

“Hullo, you here!” exclaimed one of them.

“Good evening,” said the other. “What luck! We can go
together. Have you been to look at the corals?”

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