Jenny | Page 4

managed the language all right, and that to bargain in the shops was an easy matter.
The food was good, but dear. Never mind, once he was more at home here he would soon learn how to live cheaply. Satisfied and exhilarated by the wine, he started to walk in a new direction, past long, low, dilapidated houses, through an archway on to a bridge. A man in a barrier hut stopped him and made him understand that he had to pay a soldo. On the other side of the bridge was a large, dark church with a dome.
He got into a labyrinth of dark, narrow bits of streets - in the mysterious gloom he surmised the existence of old palaces with projecting cornices and lattice windows side by side with miserable hovels, and small church-fronts in between the rows of houses. There were no pavements and he stepped into refuse that lay rotting in the gutter. Outside the narrow doors of the lighted taverns and under the few street lamps he had a vague glimpse of human forms.
He was half delighted, half afraid - boyishly excited, and wondering at the same time how he was to get out of this maze and find the way to his hotel at the ends of the earth - take a cab, he supposed.
He passed down another narrow, almost empty street. A small strip of clear, blue sky was visible between the high houses with their frameless windows, looking like black holes cut in the wall. On the uneven stone bridge dust and straw and bits of paper were tossed about by a light gust of wind.
Two women, walking behind him, passed him close under a lamp. He gave a start: they were the ones he had noticed that afternoon in the Corso and believed to be Norwegian. He recognized the light furs of the taller one.
Suddenly he felt an impulse to try an adventure - to ask them the way, so as to hear if they were Norwegian - or Scandinavian at any rate, for they were certainly foreigners. With slightly beating heart he started to walk after them.
The two young girls stopped outside a shop, which was closed, and then walked on. Helge wondered if he should say "Please" or "Bitte" or "Scusi" - or if he should blurt out at once "Undskyld" - it would be funny if they were Norwegians.
The girls turned a corner; Helge was close upon them, screwing up courage to address them. The smaller one turned round angrily and said something in Italian in a low voice. He felt disappointed and was going to vanish after an apology, when the tall one said in Norwegian: "You should not speak to them, Cesca - it is much better to pretend not to notice."
"I cannot bear that cursed Italian rabble; they never will leave a woman alone," said the other.
"I beg your pardon," said Helge, and the two girls stopped, turning round quickly.
"I hope you will excuse me," he muttered, colouring, and, angrily conscious of it, blushed still deeper. "I only arrived from Florence today, and have lost my way in these winding streets. I thought you were Norwegian, or at any rate Scandinavian, and I cannot manage the Italian language. Would you be kind enough to tell me where to find a car? My name is Gram," he added, raising his hat again.
"Where do you live?" asked the taller girl.
"At a place called the Albergo Torino, close to the station," he explained.
"He should take the Trastevere tram at San Carlo ai Catenari," said the other.
"No; better take a No. 1 at the new Corso."
"But those cars don't go to the Termini," answered the little one.
"Yes, they do. Those that have San Pietro, stazione Termini, written on them," she explained to Helge.
"Oh, that one! It runs past Capo le Case and Ludovisi and an awful long way about first - it will take an hour at least to the station with that one."
"No, dear; it goes direct - straight along Via Nazionale."
"It does not," insisted the other; "it goes to the Lateran first."
The taller girl turned to Helge: "The first turning right will take you into a sort of market. From there you go along the Cancellaria on your left to the new Corso. If I remember rightly, the tram stops at the Cancellaria - somewhere near it anyway - you will see the sign. But be sure to take the tram marked San Pietro, stazione Termini, No. 1."
Helge stood somewhat crestfallen, listening to the foreign names which the girls used with such easy familiarity, and, shaking his head, said: "I am afraid I shall never be able to find it - perhaps I had better walk till I find a cab."
"We might go with you to the stop,"