"Italian. No common mind collected these books, Fritz."
"The master that's dead--father of him who sleeps in the next room."
"Ha, ha!" interposed Pierre Lamont, turning over the pages as he spoke. "He sleeps there, does he?
"Yes. His father was a great scholar, I've heard."
"A various scholar, Fritz, if these books are an epitome of his mind. Love, philosophy, gloomy wanderings in dark paths--here we have them all. The lights and shadows of life. Which way runs your taste, fool?"
"I love the light, of course. What use in being a fool if you don't know how to take advantage of your opportunities?"
"Well said. Let us indulge a little. These poets are sly rascals. They take unconscionable liberties, and play with women's beauty as other men dare not do."
Fritz's eyes twinkled.
"It does not escape even you, Master Lamont."
"What does not escape me, fool?"