He nodded. She looked at him and thought he was thinner than ever.
“Cesare! Is there nothing? Is there no hope?”
He laughed grimly.
“Ma che! Of course there is hope. That is always left, though it grows mouldy with time. They have promised me something on the Avanti staff. And besides,”—his eyes kindled—“there may be a great stroke struck before long.”
“What stroke? Tell me.”
“No, no, carina,” he said, not unkindly. “There will be no telling.”
She reflected.
“Cesare, truly, what have you eaten to-day?”
“Your chestnuts.”
She was turning out her pocket the next moment and pressing a five lire note upon him.