“Our poor signorino looks very sad to-day!” he said.
“Even so, good Tomaso,” replied the sculptor. “Would that we could raise his spirits a little!”
“There might be means, Signore,” answered the old butler, “if one might but be sure that they were the right ones. We men are but rough nurses for a sick body or a sick spirit.”
“Women, you would say, my good friend, are better,” said the sculptor, struck by an intelligence in the butler’s face. “That is possible! But it depends.”
“Ah; we will wait a little longer,” said Tomaso, with the customary shake of his head.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE OWL TOWER
“Will you not show me your tower?” said the sculptor one day to his friend.
“It is plainly enough to be seen, methinks,” answered the Count, with a kind of sulkiness that often appeared in him, as one of the little symptoms of inward trouble.