“Oh, no ceremonies with me, Excellency.  In the village I am generally called Maestro Paolo.  I had a surname once, though a very equivocal one; and I have forgotten that since I retired from the world.”

“And was it from disgust, from poverty, or from some—­some ebullition of passion which entailed punishment, that you betook yourself to the mountains?”

“Why, signor,” said the bravo, with a gay laugh, “hermits of my class seldom love the confessional.  However, I have no secrets while my step is in these defiles, my whistle in my pouch, and my carbine at my back.”  With that the robber, as if he loved permission to talk at his will, hemmed thrice, and began with much humour; though, as his tale proceeded, the memories it roused seemed to carry him farther than he at first intended, and reckless and light-hearted ease gave way to that fierce and varied play of countenance and passion of gesture which characterise the emotions of his countrymen.

“I was born at Terracina,—­a fair spot, is it not?  My father was a learned monk of high birth; my mother—­Heaven rest her!—­an innkeeper’s pretty daughter.  Of course there could be no marriage in the case; and when I was born, the monk gravely declared my appearance to be miraculous.  I was dedicated from my cradle to the altar; and my head was universally declared to be the orthodox shape for a cowl.  As I grew up, the monk took great pains with my education; and I learned Latin and psalmody as soon as less miraculous infants learn crowing.  Nor did the holy man’s care stint itself to my interior accomplishments.  Although vowed to poverty, he always contrived that my mother should have her pockets full; and between her pockets and mine there was soon established a clandestine communication; accordingly, at fourteen, I wore my cap on one side, stuck pistols in my belt, and assumed the swagger of a cavalier and a gallant.  At that age my poor mother died; and about the same period my father, having written a History of the Pontifical Bulls, in forty volumes, and being, as I said, of high birth, obtained a cardinal’s hat.  From that time he thought fit to disown your humble servant.  He bound me over to an honest notary at Naples, and gave me two hundred crowns by way of provision.  Well, signor, I saw enough of the law to convince me that I should never be rogue enough to shine in the profession.  So, instead of spoiling parchment, I made love to the notary’s daughter.  My master discovered our innocent amusement, and turned me out of doors; that was disagreeable.  But my Ninetta loved me, and took care that I should not lie out in the streets with the Lazzaroni.  Little jade!  I think I see her now with her bare feet, and her finger to her lips, opening the door in the summer nights, and bidding me creep softly into the kitchen, where, praised be the saints! a flask and a manchet always awaited the hungry amoroso.  At last, however, Ninetta grew cold.  It is the way