The others took it up in chorus:  “Favorita has had some experience, hein!  A race between the countries!  Italy and America at the barrier.  Holla, zip! they are off!  La Favorita in the lead—­America second, coming strong.”  And so it went on.  Favorita had returned to her position by the door.  She was more quiet, and in repose it might be seen that her face looked drawn—­her eyes, if one observed closely, beneath the black penciling showed traces of recent weeping.  “Tell me something,” she said to Count Rosso.  “What is she like, this Miss Randolph?  Is it true”—­her breath came short—­“that Giovanni is trailing after her?”

“Say after her millions, rather!  I hope he gets them for your sake, Fava.  Then you can have the house in the country that you have always wanted.”

“I’d rather he got his money some other way.  It does not please me that he should marry!”

“Aren’t you unreasonable?  Can’t you give him up for a few weeks?”

“If you call marriage a few weeks.”

Rosso, laughing, threw his hand up.  “How long does a honeymoon last?  A few weeks and he will be back.”

But the dancer’s eyes filled, and she set her sharp little teeth together.  “I cannot bear it! Ah Dio! I cannot!  She is young—­and surely she loves him.”

“Every woman thinks the man she prefers is alike beloved by every other woman he meets!  I have not heard that she loves him!”

“Be quiet about what you have heard—­what I want to know is, does he return it?  I am told she is attractive; if she is—­I shall——­”

Count Rosso chanced upon the right remark in answering, “Could a man, do you, think, who has had your favor, be satisfied with a cold American girl?  Do not be stupid!”

Favorita was slightly pacified.  “Is she at all like me?  Paint me her portrait!”

“Her eyes are—­m—­m—­rather nice; her skin—­yes, good; her features—­imperfect; she holds herself haughtily—­chin out, and her back very straight, and”—­as a last assurance, he added, “she speaks broken Italian.”

La Favorita’s coal-black eyes lit with a new light, and her whole body seemed to flutter.  Her carmine lips parted as, with an expression of quick joy, she clapped her hands together and exclaimed, “American accent! Per Dio! She has an American accent!”

In her delight she threw her arms about the count’s neck and kissed him on the lips.  With perfect impartiality she turned to two other men standing near and kissed them also, repeating to herself the while, “An American accent!”

The next arrivals she received as though they were both expected and welcome; greeting them with the unintelligible exclamation, “Imagine speaking the only language in the world worth speaking with an American accent!”

“But why do we not go into the dining-room?” asked her stage manager, a heavy puff of a man.  “I have a void within.”

“May the void always stay, great beef!” she laughed.  Then, with a shrug and a wave of her arms, as though to sweep every one out of the room, she cried petulantly, “Go! and eat, all of you.  I am glad, if only you go!”