fact, as the Count was returning from the manager’s office, there she was sitting in the lobby bent over some weighty textbook. It was a tableau familiar to any member of the Metropol staff. For hours on end she sat in that very chair memorizing capitals, conjugating verbs, and solving for x or y. With an equal sense of dedication she studied her sewing with Marina and her sauces with Emile. Why, ask anyone who knew Sofia to describe her and they would tell you that she was studious, shy, and well behaved; or in a word, demure.
As he mounted the stairs to the upper floors, the Count enumerated the relevant facts like a jurist: In eight years, Sofia had not thrown a single tantrum; every day she had brushed her teeth and headed off to school without a fuss; and whether it was time to bundle up, buckle down, or eat her peas, she had done so without complaint. Even that little game of her own invention, which she had grown so fond of playing, was founded on a quality of poise that was beyond her years.
Here is how it was played:
The two of them would be sitting somewhere in the hotel—say, reading in their study on a Sunday morning. At the stroke of twelve, the Count would set his book down and excuse himself to pay his weekly visit to the barber. After descending one flight in the belfry and traversing the hall to the main stair, he would continue his journey down five flights to the subfloor, where, having passed the flower shop and newsstand, he would enter the barbershop only to discover—Sofia reading quietly on the bench by the wall.
Naturally, this resulted in the calling of the Lord’s name in vain and the dropping of whatever happened to be in one’s hand (three books and a glass of wine so far this year).
Setting aside the fact that such a game could prove fatal to a man approaching his sixties, one had to marvel at the young lady’s expertise. She could seemingly transport herself from one end of the hotel to the other in the blink of an eye. Over the years, she must have mastered all of the hotel’s hidden hallways, back passages, and connecting doors, while developing an uncanny sense of timing. But what was particularly impressive was her otherworldly repose upon discovery. For no matter how far or how fast she had traveled, there was not a hint of exertion about her. Not a patter of the heart, not a panting of the breath, not a drop of perspiration on her brow. Nor would she emit a giggle or exhibit the slightest smirk. On the contrary. With an expression that was studious, shy, and well behaved, she would acknowledge the Count with a friendly nod, and looking back at her book, turn the page, demurely.
The notion that a child so composed would conspire to the releasing of geese was simply preposterous. One might as well accuse her of toppling the Tower of Babel or knocking the nose off the Sphinx.
True, she had been in the kitchen eating her supper when the chef du cuisine first received word that a certain Swiss diplomat, who had ordered the roast goose, had questioned the freshness of the poultry. And admittedly, she was devoted to her Uncle Emile. Even so, how was a thirteen-year-old girl to spirit three adult fowl to the fourth floor of an international hotel at seven in the morning without detection? The very idea, concluded the Count as he opened the door to his rooms, confounded one’s reason, offended the laws of nature, and flew in the face of common—
“Iesu Christi!”
Sofia, who the moment before had been in the lobby, was seated at the Grand Duke’s desk, leaning diligently over her tome.
“Oh, hello, Papa,” she said without looking up.
. . .
“Apparently, it is no longer considered polite to look up from one’s work when a gentleman enters a room.”
Sofia turned in her chair.
“I’m sorry, Papa. I was immersed in my reading.”
“Hmm. And what might that be?”
“It is an essay on cannibalism.”
“An essay on cannibalism!”
“By Michel de Montaigne.”
“Ah. Yes. Well. That’s time well spent, I’m sure,” conceded the Count.
But as he headed toward the study, he thought, Michel de Montaigne . . . ? Then he shot a glance at the base of their bureau.