I keep it shut for the mole,
when he does not shut it himself."
"I will come in and smoke a pipe with you," said Toto. "We will talk
of old times."
The porter shook his head, and blocked the way.
"Not if you were the blessed soul of my father come back from the
dead," he said. "The Baron's instructions are to let no one in without
the mole's orders."
"But I am an old friend," objected Toto.
"Not if you were my mother, and the Holy Father, and Saint Peter, and
all the souls of Purgatory at once," answered the porter.
"May an apoplexy seize you!" observed Toto pleasantly, and he went
off, his pipe in his mouth.
The porter shrugged his shoulders at the imprecation, shut the door
reluctantly, and went in to supper. Upstairs, Malipieri stood at his
open window, smoking and watching the old fountain in the court. It
was evening, and a deep violet light filled the air and was reflected
in the young man's bronzed face. He was very thoughtful now, and was
not aware that he heard the irregular splash of the water in the dark
basin at the feet of the statue of Hercules, and the eager little
scream of the swallows as they shot past him, upward to the high old
eaves, where their young were, and downwards almost to the gravel of
the court, and in wide circles and madly sudden curves.
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