'I know; but that is no reason for bringing a dirty fellow among decent people, even if he is your friend.'
'How excitable you are, dear! Be charitable.'
'Charity is one thing, decency is another,' she replied obstinately. 'Don't you see how untidy he is?'
'Untidy!' he muttered, with his usual good-nature; 'he is a philosopher—he does not care about clothes.'
'Well, I want him to go away.'
'How can it be done?' he asked, confused and mortified by his wife's persistence.
'Tell him so!'
'I'll first give him a glass of wine; be patient, then I will make him go away.'
In fact, Cesare went up to the unknown to offer him sweets and wine, speaking in a whisper, and looking him in the eyes. He agreed, with a smile on his discoloured lips. He began to eat slowly, with a little grimace, as if he could not swallow well. The mysterious person looked at the sweets Cesare offered him with an undecided air, before putting them into his mouth; but he made up his mind to eat them at last, still with that nervous, pained look of having a narrow swallow. He was standing with that embarrassed shame of his own person that is some people's constant unhappiness; and he broke an almond noisily, gulped over big mouthfuls of Margherita paste, gazing vaguely around, as if he dared not lower his eyes on his legs and shoes. Then he slowly went on eating; for Cesare had had a tray put on a table beside him, and went on handing him chocolates, vanilla almonds, mandarins in syrup. A tray of wine-glasses was set down also; the queer fellow took three glasses, one after the other, without taking breath between, lifting his pale, streaked face and hospital convalescent's sickly beard. Cesare Fragalà, with a set, preoccupied smile, looked in the man's eyes, as if he wanted to read his soul, all the time this feeding went on.