'Your return,' moaned Emil—and his voice quivered and broke, ' but if you're———'
'Emil!' Sanin interrupted—and he pointed to the coachman, 'do control yourself! Emil, please, go home! Listen to me, my dear! You say you love me. Well, I beg you!' He held out his hand to him. Emil bent forward, sobbed, pressed it to his lips, and darting away from the road, ran back towards Frankfort across country.
'A noble heart too,' muttered Pantaleone; but Sanin glanced severely at him.. . . The old man shrank into the corner of the carriage. He was conscious of his fault; and moreover, he felt more and more bewildered every instant; could it really be he who was acting as second, who had got horses, and had made all arrangements, and had left his peaceful abode at six o'clock? Besides, his legs were stiff and aching.
Sanin thought it as well to cheer him up, and he chanced on the very thing, he hit on the right word.
'Where is your old spirit, Signor Cippatola? Where is il antico valor?'
SignorCippatola drew himself up and scowled 'Il antico valor?' he boomed in a bass voice. 'Non è ancora spento (it's not all lost yet), il antico valor!'
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