the nature to reassure me. What would this new master be like?
Without knocking, Vitalis pushed open the door at the top of the stairs, on the top floor, and we found ourselves in a large attic. There was a great empty space in the middle of the room, and all around the walls were beds, a dozen in all. The walls and ceiling that had once been white were now filthy with smoke, dust, and dirt. On the walls was a drawing of a head in charcoal and some flowers and birds.
"Are you there, Garofoli?" asked Vitalis; "it is so dark I can't see any one. It's Vitalis."
A weak, drawling voice replied to Vitalis' question.
"Signor Garofoli has gone out; he will not be back for two hours."
A boy about twelve years of age came forward. I was struck by his strange looks. Even now, as I write, I can see him as I saw him then. He had no body, so to speak, for he seemed all legs and head. His great head was out of all proportion. Built so, he could not have been called handsome, yet there was something in his face which attracted one strangely, an expression of sadness and gentleness and, yes ... hopelessness. His large eyes held your own with sympathy.
"You are sure he will not be back for two hours?" asked Vitalis.
"Quite sure, Signor. That will be dinner time, and no one ever serves dinner but Signor Garofoli."
