"No—yes— It would perhaps be too much trouble—just now."
"Come," said Federico, taking him by the hand like a child. "Come and see him."
We entered. We went up to the nursery.
My mother was there. She smiled kindly at Giovanni, and cautioned us to make no noise.
"He is asleep," she said.
And, turning toward me, she added with uneasiness:
"He coughed a little to-day."
The news agitated me, and my agitation was so manifest that my mother thought she reassured me by adding:
"Only very little, you know—a mere nothing."
Already Federico and the old man had approached the cradle, and by the light of the lamp they looked at the little sleeper. The old man had bent over, and around him there was no whiteness as pure as the whiteness of his hair.