As for a dead man, he would make a point for him and howl half a mile off, unless the wind was the wrong way." "Would he really ?" asked Corbario with a little interest.
Ercole looked at him and nodded, but said no more, and presently the whole party of men went back to Rome, leaving him to the loneliness of the sand-banks and the sea.
Then Ercole came back to the gap and stood still a little while, and his dog sat bolt upright beside him.
"Nino," he said at last, in a rather regretful tone, "I gave you a good character.

What could I say before those gentlemen?
But I tell you this, you are growing old.

And don't answer that I am getting old too, for that is my business.

If your nose were what it was once, we should know the truth by this time.

Smell that!" Ercole produced a small green morocco pocket-book, of the sort made to hold a few visiting cards and a little paper money, and held it to Nino's muzzle.
Nino smelt it, looked up to his master's face inquiringly, smelt it again, and then, as if to explain that it did not interest him, lay down in the sand with his head on his forepaws.
"You see!" growled Ercole.