reflected with satisfaction that the new wine was not yet sold, and that that money at least was safe from the clutches of the Moro.
It did not appear as if the latter threatened violence. "At the worst I should lose twenty francs," concluded Don Rocco, seeking refuge in his philosophical and Christian indifference to money. He mentally abandoned the twenty francs to their destiny and sought to concentrate his thoughts on the sacred text: Nemo potest duobus dominis servire. At the same moment he seemed to hear, between the hasty steps of the Moro, a heavy, dull thud from a greater distance, as of a door being broken open; then the bang of a chair knocked down in the kitchen; then still another distant noise. The Moro entered the sitting-room and violently closed the door behind him.
"Here I am, Don Rocco," said he. "Have you also finished?"
"Now is the time," thought the priest, who immediately forgot everything but the presence of this man.
"Not finished yet," he answered. "But I will finish after you have gone. What do you wish?"
The Moro took a seat opposite him and crossed his arms on the table.
"I am living a bad life, sir," said he. "The life of a dog and not of a man."
At this Don Rocco, although he had resigned
