All of a sudden, a young woman, not much more than a girl, approached us asking "Voulez-vous passer la nuit avec moi ?"
More than the question in French, it was the extreme reserve of her speech which surprised me. Taken by surprise, Vasile answered her in Romanian with a brusque tone. I, in French, said "Excuse me?". She repeated, still in French, "Would you like to spend the night in my company?" I looked at her more attentively. She seemed to be about twenty, or maybe slightly older. Not really knowing what to do or rather what to say, I heard myself answer: "No, thank you".
She laughed: "Typical French politeness!"
I was a little embarrassed, I must say. Vasile was being humorous: "Come on, we'll be late!" Noting how uneager I was to move on, he added: "If you want a quickie, it's up to you, you can catch up with her this evening! It can wait for now, can't it?".
We moved on, me with regret, while the girl recited the beginning of a poem by Verlaine, staring right at me. I turned my head in her direction, and stood still while Vasile was still trying to drag me along. In a blank voice, I stammered that I would come back later. He glanced at me with no illusions, lacking all amenity, groaning something in Romanian, before going off. I raised my eyes. She was still there, looking at me attentively. I took a few steps in her direction. She smiled at me, murmuring: