to the sea, and the world would be refreshed. But now it was near noon
and a heavy weariness lay upon the earth.

"You are tired," said Corbario, as they reached the shade of some trees,
less than half a mile from the cottage. "Let us sit down for a while."

They sat down, where they could see the sea. It was dull and glassy
under the high sun; here and there, far out, the sluggish currents made
dark, irregular streaks.

Corbario produced cigarettes and offered one to Marcello, but the boy
would not smoke; he said that it made him cough.

"I should smoke all the time, if I were quite well," he said, with a
smile.

"And do many other things that young men do, I daresay," laughed
Corbario. "Ride steeplechases, play cards all night, and drink champagne
at breakfast."

"Perhaps." Marcello was amused at the picture. "I wonder whether I ever
shall," he added.

Corbario glanced at him curiously. There was the faintest accent of
longing in the tone, which was quite new.

"Why not?" Folco asked, still smiling. "It is merely a question of
health, my dear boy. There is no harm in steeplechases if you do not
break your neck, nor in playing cards if you do not play high, nor in
drinking a glass of champagne now and then--no harm at all, that I can