“Terra Vergine —­ Commune of Ruscino —­ owners Alba from 1620 —­ family of good report —­ regular taxpayers —­ sixty hectares —­ land productive; value —­ just so —­ humph, humph, humph!”

Then he laid down the documents and looked at Don Silverio from over his spectacles.

“I conclude, most reverend, that you come empowered by this young man to treat with us?”

“I venture, sir,” replied Don Silverio respectfully, “to remind you again that it is impossible I should be so empowered, since Adone Alba was ignorant of the reason for which he was summoned here.”

Corradini shuffled his documents nervously with some irritation.

“This conference, then, is a mere waste of time?  I hold council to-day —­”

“Pardon me, your Excellency,” said Don Silverio blandly.  “It will not be a waste of time if you will allow me to lay before you certain facts, and, first, to ask you one question:  Who is, or are, the buyer or buyers of this land?”

The question was evidently unwelcome to the Syndic; it was direct, which every Italian considers ill-bred, and it was awkward to answer.  He was troubled for personal reasons, and the calm and searching gaze of the priest’s dark eyes embarrassed him.  After all, he thought, it would have been better to deal with the boor himself.

“Why do you ask that?” he said irritably.  “You are aware that the National Society for the Improvement of Land and the foreign company of the Teramo-Tronto Electric Railway combine in these projected works?”

“To which of these two societies, then, is Adone Alba, or am I, as his locum tenens, to address ourselves?”

“To neither.  This commune deals with you.”

“Why?”

Count Corradini took off his glasses, put them on again, shifted the papers and plans in his imposing portfolio.

“May I ask again —­ why?” said Don Silverio in the gentlest tones of his beautiful voice.

“Because, because,” answered the Syndic irritably, “because the whole affair is in treaty between our delegates and the companies.  Public societies do not deal with private individuals directly, but by proxy.”

“Pardon my ignorance,” said Don Silverio, “but why does the commune desire to substitute itself for the owner?”

“It is usual.”

“Ah!  It is usual.”

Corradini did not like the repetition of his phrase, which would not perhaps bear very close examination.  He looked at his watch.

“Excuse me, Reverend Father, but time presses.”

“Allow me to crave of your bounty a little more time, nevertheless.  I am not habituated to business, but I believe, if I understand your worshipful self aright, the commune contemplates purchasing from the individuals, with power and intent to sell to the companies.”

What an unmannerly ecclesiastic! thought Corradini; for indeed, put thus bluntly and crudely what the commune, as represented by himself, was doing did not look as entirely correct as could be desired.