"Sù!—Via!—A little courage to bear the burden of a weary life. What has tired you, Orazio?"
"I have walked from the gate here," answered Orazio, without unclosing his eyes.
"Go on, go on," is Malatesta's reply, "nothing like perseverance. You will lose the use of your limbs in time. It is this cursed air. Per Bacco! it will infect me. Why, oh! why, my penates, was I born at Lucca? It is the dullest place. No one ever draws a knife, or fights a duel, or runs away with his neighbor's wife. Why don't they? It would be excitement. Cospetto! we marry, and are given in marriage, and breed like pigeons in our own holes.—Come, Franchi, have you no news? Wake up, man! You are full of wickedness, spite of your laziness."
Franchi opened his eyes, stretched himself, then yawned, and leaned his head upon his arm that rested on one of the small tables near.
"News?—oh!—ah! There is plenty of news, but I am too tired to tell it."
"News! and I not know it!" cried Count Malatesta.
Several others spoke, then all gathered round Franchi. Count Malatesta slapped Franchi on the back.
"Come, my Trojan, speak. I insist upon it," said Orsetti, rising.
Franchi looked up at him. There was a French cook at Palazzo Orsetti. No one had such Chateau Lafitte. Orazio is far from insensible to these blessings.
"Well, listen. Old Sansovino has returned to his villa at Riparata.
His wife is with him."