What was a little dye compared with the profound artificiality of his own outer man?
How the old fellow's deep voice rang, loud and clear, from his broad chest! How strong he was, with his firm step, and his broad brown hands, and his fiery black eyes! He hated him for the greenness of his age--he hated him for his stalwart son, another of those long-lived fierce Saracinesca, who seemed destined to outlive time.

He himself had no children, no relations, no one to bear his name--he had only a beautiful young wife and much wealth, with just enough strength left to affect a gay walk when he was with her, and to totter unsteadily to his couch when he was alone, worn out with the effort of trying to seem young.
As they sat in their carriage he thought bitterly of all these things, and never spoke.

Corona herself was weary, and glad to be silent.

They went up-stairs, and as she took his arm, she gently tried to help him rather than be helped.

He noticed it, and made an effort, but he was very tired.