"Kiss him," whispered Federico.
He rose, looked at my mother and at me with an indefinite look; then he passed his hand over his mouth, over his chin, which had not been freshly shaven.
And in a low tone he said to my brother, with whom he was less ceremonious:
"If I kiss him my beard will prick him, and certainly awaken him."
My brother, who saw that the poor, forsaken old man was dying with desire to kiss the child, encouraged him with a gesture. And then that great hoary head bent over the cradle, softly, softly, softly.
XLI.
When my mother and I were alone in the room, in front of the cradle in which Raymond still slept with the kiss on his forehead, she said to me, very much moved:
"Poor old man! Do you know that he comes here almost every evening? He hides himself in the garden. I heard it from Pietro, who has seen him wandering around the house. The day of the baptism he had the window of this room pointed out to him, doubtless so that he might come and look at it. Poor old man! How sorry I am for him!"
I listened to Raymond's breathing. It did not seem to me to be changed. His slumber was tranquil.
I said: "So he coughed to-day?"