As Renzo descended the staircase, he began to think of a way to establish a one-on-one conversation with the young woman. ... Her curt responses from their earlier conversation, along with her dazzling beauty and regal composure, intimidated Renzo.
With his eyes fixed on her, he miscounted the number of steps on the stairway. As he reached what he thought was the last step, his knees buckled under. He wound up sprawled on the shiny checkerboard-tile floor, with one leg twisted under his buttocks and the other against the wall in the opposite direction. ...
"Are you hurt?" she asked.
"No. I'm fine." Renzo brushed and straightened his uniform.
"Please sit down," she said. "Grandmama wants me to serve." She suddenly stopped and corrected herself. "Grandmama wants me to give you some dinner."
Her voice and manner were calm and sure. Renzo sensed he was facing a proud Corsican woman who had trouble with the word "serve."... Without sounding flattering or patronizing, he tactfully complimented her skilled piano playing. "That was one of the finest Chopins I've ever heard; quite an emotional approach. I sensed controlled aggressiveness and fiery excitement."
"Well!" she said. They both stood next to the table, and she looked at him with her intense, almost burning eyes. "I didn't know that Italy has sent music critics along with all the murderers and marauders."
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