'Into what? Cherubs or satyrs? Be quick, lest the fashion change while you talk.'
'Go to! Thou art the Duke, I say.'
'Well, a fine puppet, and great at righting wrongs. There's Lucia to witness.'
'She's provided for.'
'With bread. O, I am a very Mahomet. If I but nod my head, the city shall crack and crumble to it.'
'God! What ails thee, boy?'
'Something mortal, I think. A breath withered me just now!'
'A breath? Whose breath?'
'Whose? O Carlo, forgive me! What have I said or done? Look, I'm myself again. It just fell like a frost in June, killing my young olives. I had so hung upon it, too—its help and promise. The harvest seemed so certain.'
'Ah! She's thrown you over?'