While Giovanni stood at the window, he heard a rustling behind a
screen of leaves, and became aware that a person was at work in the
garden. His figure soon emerged into view, and showed itself to be
that of no common laborer, but a tall, emaciated, sallow, and sickly
looking man, dressed in a scholar's garb of black. He was beyond the
middle term of life, with gray hair, a thin gray beard, and a face
singularly marked with intellect and cultivation, but which could
never, even in his more youthful days, have expressed much warmth of
heart.
Nothing could exceed the intentness with which this scientific
gardener examined every shrub which grew in his path; it seemed as
if he was looking into their inmost nature, making observations in
regard to their creative essence, and discovering why one leaf grew in
this shape, and another in that, and wherefore such and such flowers
differed among themselves in hue and perfume. Nevertheless, in spite
of the deep intelligence on his part, there was no approach to
intimacy between himself and these vegetable existences.
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