The uncle was still in bed. He was in the habit of rising late, because his room could not be heated, and for the sake of economy he did not wish the fire in the little salon lighted too early. However, the cold did not prevent his sitting up in bed and reading, half his chest and both arms outside the covers.
"Ciao! Good-morning!" said he, as Franco entered.
From the tone of his greeting, from the expression of the fine face, serious in its kindliness, Franco understood that Uncle Piero was about to say something unusual.
In fact, the uncle pointed to the chair beside his bed, and uttered the most solemn of his exordiums—
"Sit you down!"
Franco sat down.
"So you are leaving to-morrow?"
"Yes, uncle."
"Good!"
It would seem that in uttering that "Good!" the uncle's heart came into his mouth, for the word filled his cheeks, and came out full and ringing.