"Si, signora."
"But the padrone is still asleep!"
"So is Gaspare in the hay. Come and see, signora."
Lucrezia took Hermione by the hand and led her round the angle of the cottage. There, under the low roof of the out-house, dressed only in his shirt and trousers with his brown arms bare and his hair tumbled over his damp forehead, lay Gaspare on a heap of hay close to Tito, the donkey. Some hens were tripping and pecking by his legs, and a black cat was curled up in the hollow of his left armpit. He looked infinitely young, healthy, and comfortable, like an embodied carelessness that had flung itself down to its need.
"I wish I could sleep like that," said Hermione.
"Signora!" said Lucrezia, shocked. "You in the stable with that white dress! Mamma mia! And the hens!"
"Hens, donkey, cat, hay, and all—I should love it. But I'm too old ever to sleep like that. Don't wake him!"
Lucrezia was stepping over to Gaspare.
"And I won't wake the padrone. Let them both sleep. They've been up all night. I'll eat alone. When they wake we'll manage something for them. Perhaps they'll sleep till evening, till dinner-time."
"Gaspare will, signora. He can sleep the clock round when he's tired."