By the time we left the store we were loaded down with packages. Every now and again we would lose one and there would always be someone to point it out until Arianna finally turned furiously and told them not to bother us, that we weren’t the kind of people who picked things up off the ground.

“A blue smoking jacket,” she said, stopping in the middle of the street and looking up above the roofs, “the same color as the sky.”

“It’ll be hard to find one,” I said.

“Then let’s wait for sundown,” she said. “I saw a pink one on Piazza di Spagna. What would you say to a solid silver cigarette case with your initials? Or else a gold key ring for the car?” she said. “You know, those awful ones with the name of the make on them?”

“As long as it’s gold,” I said. “Otherwise, the car won’t start. But I’d prefer a pipe.”

“Why just one?” she said, walking into a tobacconist’s.

We chose seven, one for each day of the week. For some mysterious reason, the one with the inlaid bull’s head made her double over with laughter.

“What about him?” I said. “It seems impolite not to bear him in mind. Do you think he can afford a box of cigars?”

“Two,” she said. “Don’t be a skinflint.”

“What time is it?” I said, indicating the little gold watch she had on her wrist.

“It’s terribly inaccurate,” she said with a grimace. “But it’s teatime anyway.”

We weren’t far from a very elegant tearoom, but we couldn’t go somewhere like that loaded down with packages, so we called a taxi, put the things in it, and sent it to my hotel.

“And we can’t have a proper tea without a dachshund,” I said, stopping outside a pet store with a dachshund in the window.

“Yes,” she said, enthusiastically. “It looks sufficiently repugnant.” She strode resolutely into the store. “Give me that tyke,” she said. The tyke cost a whole bunch of money and had a more complex family tree than a count of the Holy Roman Empire. He was no more pitiful than most dachshunds and he walked behind us, a little scared of the traffic.

The tearoom was full of old ladies laden with jewels. We ordered two teas with orange and every kind of brioche and biscotto they had. There were even madeleines.

“Let’s dunk them in the tea,” I said. “Did you ever finish Swann’s Way?”

“It’s the only thing I read all winter,” she said, giving a madeleine to the dachshund. “Every now and again I tried to read some of it to him aloud, but it bored him so much!”

“They’re very good,” I said, taking another madeleine. “Just like they used to be.”