Surprised and somewhat abashed as he was by such an enthusiastic outburst from his normally stern-faced teacher, Carter did not know quite how to respond in either Italian or English.

“Nothing to it,” he finally said modestly. “It’s easy with a good professor.”

“Grazie,” said Giancarlo, acknowledging the compliment with a solemn nod of his head. Then he wagged a finger at his student. “But don’t get overconfident,” he warned him. “You have a long way to go and much more to learn before you’re ready for this trip you are planning to Italy.”

“I’ll make certain,” Carter vowed.

“Bravo,” said Giancarlo.

With that the professor took a deep breath, let it out, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, evidently turning over something in his mind. Carter had come to recognize this gesture as a clue that the introduction of some new word or concept was in the offing. He took a deep breath of his own and waited for what came next. To his surprise, Giancarlo suddenly pushed himself away from the table.

“Basta,” he said, standing. “Basta di pasta, andiamo ad Aosta!”

“Enough of pasta, let’s go to Aosta?” translated a curious Carter. “Che significa?”

“It doesn’t mean anything, not really,” chuckled Giancarlo. “It was just something silly my father always liked to say whenever dinner was finished and it was time to take the dishes away. For you and me, I suppose it means it’s time to take a little break, prendere un piccolo intervalo. Capito?”

Carter nodded to show that he understood.

“Lei prende un caffe?” Giancarlo asked him.

Carter ordinarily did not drink much coffee, but the offer of a cup seemed like a good idea given the dismal weather. “Si, per piacere,” he replied.

A few minutes later, Giancarlo returned from the kitchen with two steaming cups of coffee. He set the cups on the table, slid one over to Carter, and went back to the kitchen. He returned with a small plate on which rested some biscotti.

“Assaggia,” he told Carter, gesturing to the plate. “You can dunk them in the coffee, if you like.This coffee of course is a little weaker than what you would drink in Italy, but it will do.”

While Carter sampled the biscotti, Giancarlo took a quick sip of coffee before reaching down to the couch beside him. He soon produced a map, which he unfolded and laid across the table. It was a wrinkled old chart, its browning paper fraying at the edges, the creases almost at the point of tearing.

“La carta dell’Italia,” Giancarlo announced. “The map of Italy. It’s always good to know more than just the language before you visit someplace new, so I thought a little geography lesson would be of use.”

“Yes, it would,” said Carter with keen interest. He put his cup of coffee aside and leaned closer to get a better look.