'Is he not a child to adore? Ah me! to be foster-parent to that boon-comrade of the Christ!'
Carlo looked at her with some satisfaction darkling out of gloom. His honest hot brain was no Machiavellian possession; his temper was the travail of a warm heart. He believed this woman meant honestly; and so, no doubt, she did in her loss, not considering, or choosing not to consider, the emotionalism of regain.
'Ay, Madonna,' said he, kindling, ''tis the most covetable relation. Who but a Potiphar's wife would associate what we call love with this Joseph? God! a look of him will make me blush as I were a brat caught stealing sugar. There is that in him, we blurt out the truth in the very act of hiding it. A child to adore? Is he not, now, the dear put? and to hearken to and imitate what we can. Ay, and more—to shield with this arm—let men beware. Only the women harass me, this way and that. Their loves and hates be like twin babes. None but their dam can tell each from the other. Therefore, would ye mother him—'
'Yes—'
'And cherish and protect—'
'Yes—'
'And of your woman's wisdom keep skirts at a distance—'
'I will promise that most.'
'Why, I will bring him back to thee, ring and all, though I turn Milan upside down first.'
He bowed and was going; but she detained him, with sycophant velvet eyes.