“You're no work of art!” said she.
“No, I'm a man, and better than any imitation of a man, for when a lady came into the room I should jump down and hide in some sarcophagus.”
I left them with the poetic cattle of Olympus and went on and asked them to look for me at the door. I lingered awhile with the lovely figures of Canova and Bernini, and was glad at last to get out of the chilly atmosphere of the gallery.
I found the count at the door. He approached me and said, in broken English:
“The ladies, I suppose, they are yet inside now.”
I saw my chance and took advantage of it.
“Why do you follow them?”
“Because I have the hope for good devil-op-ments.”
His “devil-op-ments” amused me, and I could not help laughing.
“Ah, Signore, I have very much troubley in my harrit,” he added.