"No," said the Capsina. "He is like the lemon: the older and nearer to ripeness it gets, the sourer it grows. He must be nearly ripe in my poor thought."
"Well, then, he has become the orange," said Christos. "I love him not, yet he is sour no longer."
And he told the story of the return of his wife.
The Capsina listened in silence.
"An old man like that," she said, "and she, you say, also old. Will you love and be loved when you are gray-headed, Mitsos? And the two old folks have gone off on the brig together! How absurd it is, and how—how splendid!"
"They go hand-in-hand," said Christos, "and when the boys laugh, they laugh too."
"Nikola laughing!" said the Capsina. "I did not think he knew how."
"Yes, with the open mouth," said Christos.
The Capsina leaned forward across the table.
"He loves this old woman, you say, as others love?" she asked. "His eye glows for her? He is hot and cold?"