philosopher in the pleasant disguise of a cunning painter."
"Not I, Messer Greco; a philosopher is the last sort of animal I would choose to resemble. I find it enough to live, without spinning lies to account for life. Fowls cackle, asses bray, women chatter, and philosophers spin false reasons—that's the effect the sight of the world brings out of them. Well, I am an animal that paints instead of cackling, or braying, or spinning lies. And now, I think, our business is done; you'll keep to your side of the bargain about the Œdipus and Antigone?"
"I will do my best," said Tito—on this strong hint, immediately moving towards the door.
"And you'll let me know at Nello's. No need to come here again."
"I understand," said Tito, laughingly, lifting his hand in sign of friendly parting.
