IV + 

The last four weeks at the Capo di Monte passed like an evil dream. For one thing there was Mario, very sorrowful and servile; he was going to miss Gian-Luca, and he said so. His manner to the boy had now completely changed, it was that of failure towards success. He bragged less about the Capo and not at all about himself. + 

“I am just an old lame mule,” he would say humbly, remembering that taunt of the Padrone’s. + 

“He is not so lame as all that!” Gian-Luca would try to think; “he puts it on in order to get pitied.” But he knew that this was not so; Mario’s lameness was quite real, and moreover, it was often very painful. + 

Mario said: “Since you were little and Rosa gave you milk, I have always been so fond of you, Gian-Luca⁠—now you go out into the world with no old Mario near. You be careful; do not listen to people like this Schmidt, who are always thinking about women.” + 

“Women!” frowned Gian-Luca, “I want no more of women!” + 

And at that Mario’s mouth twitched a little; but he went on very gravely: “You are angry with our Padrona, you have great unkindness in your heart towards her. Now that is what I fear, piccino, anger in the heart⁠—I know, for I too have felt such anger. It is dangerous, it is stupid, it makes a man a beast; it makes him forget how strong he is. The Padrona is a woman and therefore you should pity, and moreover she is really very right. For one thing she is nearly old enough to be your mother, for another she considers her business, for another she remembers the Padrone no doubt⁠—a terrible man when in anger.” He paused, for Gian-Luca had turned his back, but presently he went on still more gravely: “Forget her when you leave here, it would be better so⁠—but if you must remember, do so kindly.” + 

“Is it I, then, who must show all the kindness?” exclaimed Gian-Luca. + 

“Precisely⁠—that is so,” Mario told him. “You have nothing to forgive, and if you had, remember the Padrona is only a woman.” + 

They were standing in the pantry. Gian-Luca glared at Mario; then he noticed that his hair had greyed a little. He looked old and sad and tired; the coarse texture of his sock was showing through the slits across his shoe. Nor was he very clean; his white shirtfront was spotted and the buttons of his coat were stained and frayed. He fidgeted self-consciously under Gian-Luca’s eyes, and his hand went up to straighten his white necktie. They began collecting things; Mario could not find the napkins, he swore because the table-drawer had stuck; and presently he grumbled: + 

“It is hard, this life of ours, always standing, always running, always serving someone else. I feel at times as though I must go out and climb a mountain so as to look over something wide.” + 

Gian-Luca only grunted, and picking up a tray, he hurried off to set his luncheon tables. + 

Mario watched his youthful back disappearing through the door. “He is very young,” thought Mario, “he is very innocent⁠—yet I think he grows a little proud.” + 

But Gian-Luca at that moment felt anything but proud; all he wanted was to get away from Mario. He did not want to pity, to see any cause for pity⁠—and Mario was very pitiful. + 