She bit her lip. "I hate to think of them locked up for something they haven't done." "At the present time," he said, "my story would compromise someone else whom I also know to be innocent." _Like hell I do._ She sighed. "All right. That's good enough for me." And then, with the morning of her smile upon him again: "You've done enough for one day's knight errantry. Let's go eat." 13 The restaurant was small and quiet. Corinna and Kintyre had a corner table, where the light fell gently. "By rights we should have a Genever apéritif," he said, "but I'm convinced Dutch gin is distilled from frogs. On the other hand, Dutch beer compares to Hof, Rothausbräu, or Kronenbourg." "You've traveled a lot, haven't you?" she said. "I envy you that. Never got farther than the Sierras myself." A little embarrassed--he had not been trying to play the cosmopolite--he fell silent while she glanced at her menu. "Will you order for me?" she asked finally. "You know your way around these dishes." He made his selections, pleased by the compliment. When the beer came, in conical half-liter glasses, he raised his: "_Prosit._" "_Salute._" She drank slowly. "Wonderful. But this may not be wise on top of two whiskies." "It's all right if you go easy. Take the word of a hardened bowser." He searched out an inward weariness on the strong broad face. "You could use a little anesthesia." "Well--" She set her glass down. "Bear with me. I promise not to blubber, but I may get sentimental. Or maybe even hilarious, I don't know. I've never lost anyone close to me before now." "I understand," said Kintyre. "And please help me steer clear of myself," she added. "I would like to talk about Bruce, and otherwise about wholly neutral things." She managed a smile. "I've been meaning to ask you something. You're the Machiavelli specialist. Our theater did _Mandragola_ last year. Tell me, how could the same man write that and _Il Principe_?" "Actually," said Kintyre, "I would be surprised if the author of _The Prince_--or, rather, the _Discourses on Livy_, since _The Prince_ is really just a pamphlet--I'd be surprised if he had not done sheer amusement equally well. One of the more damnable heresies of this era is its notion that a man can only be good at one thing. That versatility is not the inborn human norm." "I've often thought the same," she said. "I suppose you know Bruce changed his major to history because of you. He took one of your classes as a freshman. Now I see why." "Well," he stalled, and hoisted his beer. She shifted the conversation with a tact he appreciated: "But how did you happen to get interested in it, in the Italian Renaissance yet, with a name like yours?" "I served time in one of those private schools back East," he said. "The Romance languages master got me enthusiastic."