"I hope he will lower the torch only once here and do honor to age, little worthy of respect as it may be.

Don't stay too long in the infected house, Herr Wilhelm." The musician gently opened the door.

The servant silently greeted him and turned towards the stairs to call Belotti; for the "player-man" had already enquired more than once for the steward.
Wilhelm entered the little room where he usually waited, and for the first time found another visitor there, but in a somewhat peculiar attitude.

Father Damianus sat bolt upright in an arm-chair, with his head drooping on one side, sound asleep.

The face of the priest, a man approaching his fortieth year, was as pink and white as a child's, and framed by a thin light-brown beard.