"But I cannot go away and leave that door until she wakes," he objected. "Dear Messer Cornelio, you have done so much for me, and are so kind,—will you not go out and find the sindaco, and bring him here to marry us?"
"Nino," I said, gravely, "the ass is a patient beast, and very intelligent, but there is a limit to his capabilities. So long as it is merely a question of doing things you cannot do, very well. But if it comes to this, that I must find not only the bride, but also the mayor and the priest, I say, with good Pius IX.,—rest his soul,—non possumus." Nino laughed. He could afford to laugh now.
"Messer Cornelio, a child could tell you have been asleep. I never heard such a string of disconnected sentences in my life. Come, be kind, and get me a mayor that I may be married."
"I tell you I will not," I cried, stubbornly. "Go yourself."
"But I cannot leave the door. If anything should happen to her—"
"Macchè! What should happen to her, pray? I will put my bench across the door, and sit there till you come back."
"I am not quite sure—" he began.
"Idiot!" I exclaimed.
"Well, let us see how it looks." And with that he ousted me from my bench, and carried it, walking on tiptoe, to the entrance of Hedwig's room. Then he placed it across the door. "Now sit down," he said, authoritatively, but in a whisper; and I took my place in the middle of the long seat. He stood back and looked at me with an artistic squint.
"You look so proper," he said, "that I am sure nobody will think of trying the door while you sit there. Will you remain till I come back?"