"The poor old man, how he weeps!" In her quiet yet desolate voice Victorine replied, "He has good reason to weep.

He did a fine thing when he took it into his head to marry my poor Benedetta to Count Prada.

All those abominations would never have happened if the poor child had been given her Dario at once.

But in this idiotic city they are all mad with their politics; and that old priest, who is none the less a very worthy man, thought he had accomplished a real miracle and saved the world by marrying the Pope and the King as he said with a soft laugh, poor old _savant_ that he is, who for his part has never been in love with anything but old stones--you know, all that antiquated rubbish of theirs of a hundred thousand years ago.

And now, you see, he can't keep from weeping.