A half hour later he got her up to go out for breakfast so the Ferraros, hearing them hurrying down the stairs, would think they were going to a late mass. It seemed to him that if the Ferraros felt sure of them, could place them, it would help him to feel more sure of himself with Carla.

``Since we're having coffee with them this afternoon,'' he said, ``I think I'll ask the daughter if we can pay her to come in every day to clean for us.'' And he waited for her to say, ``Oh, no, I can do it, Sam. There's so little to do.''

``Why not?'' she said. ``I'm not good at that kind of thing.''

``This afternoon let's take an air with them. Let's be fine superior people of great dignity,'' he said as if he were joking.

``If you find it necessary, Sam, go ahead,'' she said, turning on the stair. ``I am what I am. I cann't help it.'' Her words remained with him, worrying him for hours. He didn't know how she would behave with other people.

When they walked into the Ferraro apartment, the old lady, bowing and smiling, said softly. ``Ciao,'' and put out her hand. Her little brown face wrinkled up, her brown eyes gleamed, and with her little gestures she said all the courteous things. Agnese, smiling too, said, ``' Ello,'' and then more slowly, ``I am happy.'' And they sat down and began their little coffee party. The Ferraros offered them biscuits with the coffee. Acting only as interpreter Carla, her hands folded on her lap, was utterly impersonal. She would turn to them, then turn to him, then turn again. Watching her, he felt like a spectator at a tennis game, with the ball being bounced back and forth. Signora Ferraro, bobbing her head encouragingly, asked Sam about Canada, having a special interest. Carla translated. The old woman had a nephew from North Italy, a poor boy from a lumber mill who had got tired of the seasonal unemployment, and who had migrated to Canada to work on the railway. For a year the boy had lived in the bush in a boxcar. Did many of Sam's countrymen live in boxcars in the bush? Had Sam ever lived in a boxcar? she wanted to know. Regretfully Sam explained that he had no experience with boxcars. Just the same, the old woman said, she would write to her nephew in his boxcar and tell him she had met a nice man from his adopted country. And Sam thanked her, and hoped he might meet her nephew back home, and asked her if she had any further news of the Pope.