"The man with the white hairs who might have had
many children of his own, but who prefers to play papa--caro papa,
Babbo bello!--to the child of another on a certain little island. Ah,
buon Dio! The wonderful writer, respected and admired by all; by whose
side the little Isidoro seems only a small boy from college, about
whom nobody need bother! How he is loved, and how he is trusted on the
island! Nobody must come there but he and those whom he wishes. He is
to order, to arrange all. The little Isidoro--he must not come there.
He must not know the ladies. He is nothing; but he is wicked. He loves
pleasure. He loves beautiful girls! Wicked, wicked Isidoro! Keep him
out! Keep him away! But the great writer--with the white hairs--
everything is allowed to him because he is Caro Papa. He may teach the
Signorina. He may be alone with her. He may take her out at night in
the boat."--His cheeks were stained with red and his eyes glittered.--
"And when the voice of that wicked little Isidoro is heard-- Quick!
Quick! To the cave! Let us escape! Let us hide where it is dark, and
he will never find us! Let us make him think we are at Nisida! Hush!
the boat is passing.
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