between the Alban and the Samnite hills, and the lightning would
dart at them and tear them to pieces in spite, while the thunder roared
out at each home-thrust that it was well done; and then the spring rain
would sweep the Campagna, by its length and breadth, from the mountains
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
see. But, of course, so long as your lungs are delicate, you must be
careful."

"Confound my lungs!" exclaimed Marcello with unusual energy. "I believe
that I am much stronger than any of you think."

"I am sometimes inclined to believe it too," Corbario answered
encouragingly.

"And I am quite sure that it would do me good to forget all about them
and live as if there were nothing the matter with me. Don't you think so
yourself?"

Corbario made a gesture of doubt, as if it were possible after all.

"Of course I don't mean dissipation," Marcello went on to say, suddenly
assuming the manner of an elderly censor of morals, simply because he
did not know what he was talking about. "I don't mean reckless
dissipation."

"Of course not," Folco answered gravely. "You see, there are two sorts
of dissipation. You must not forget that. The one kind means dissipating
your fortune and your health; the other