The married Italian lady was small and good-looking and _bourgeoise_. Considerably before dinner-time, and as we were nearing Bologna, she opened a small basket which she carried and took from it a sandwich, an apple, and a bit of cheese, which she ate placidly. For some reason she occasionally smiled at me good-naturedly, but not speaking Italian, I was without the means of making a single observation. At Bologna I assisted her with her parcels and received a smiling backward glance and then I settled myself in my seat wondering what the remainder of the evening would bring forth. I was not so very long in discovering. Once the married lady of Bologna had disappeared, my young companion took on new life. She rose, smoothed down her dress and reclined comfortably in her seat, her cheek laid close against the velvet-covered arm, and looked at me occasionally out of half-closed eyes. She finally tried to make herself more comfortable by lying down and I offered her my fur overcoat as a pillow. She accepted it with a half-smile. About this time the dining-car steward came through to take a memorandum of those who wished to reserve places for dinner. He looked at the young lady but she shook her head negatively. I made a sudden decision. “Reserve two places,” I said. The servitor bowed politely and went away. I scarcely knew why I had said this, for I was under the impression my young lady companion spoke only Italian, but I was trusting much to my intuition at the moment. A little later, when it was drawing near the meal time, I said, “Do you speak English?” “_Non_,” she replied, shaking her head. “_Sprechen Sie Deutsch?_” “_Ein wenig_,” she replied, with an easy, babyish, half-German, half-Italian smile. “_Sie sind doch Italianisch_,” I suggested. “_Oh, oui!_” she replied, and put her head down comfortably on my coat. “_Reisen Sie nach Venedig?_” I inquired. “_Oui_,” she nodded. She half smiled again. I had a real thrill of satisfaction out of all this, for although I speak abominable German, just sufficient to make myself understood by a really clever person, yet I knew, by the exercise of a little tact I should have a companion to dinner. “You will take dinner with me, won’t you?” I stammered in my best German. “I do not understand German very well, but perhaps we can make ourselves understood. I have two places.” She hesitated, and said--“_Ich bin nicht hungerich._” “But for company’s sake,” I replied. “_Mais, oui_,” she replied indifferently. I then asked her whether she was going to any particular hotel in Venice--I was bound for the Royal Danieli--and she replied that her home was in Venice.