“What was it that deprived the Church of your learning?” inquired Orso.

“A mere nothing—­a bill that had to be settled, as my friend Brandolaccio puts it.  One of my sisters had been making a fool of herself, while I was devouring book-lore at Pisa University.  I had to come home, to get her married.  But her future husband was in too great a hurry; he died of fever three days before I arrived.  Then I called, as you would have done in my place, on the dead man’s brother.  I was told he was married.  What was I to do?”

“It really was puzzling!  What did you do?”

“It was one of those cases in which one has to resort to the gunflint.”

“In other words?”

“I put a bullet in his head,” said the bandit coolly.

Orso made a horrified gesture.  Nevertheless, curiosity, and, it may be, his desire to put off the moment when he must return home, induced him to remain where he was, and continue his conversation with the two men, each of whom had at least one murder on his conscience.

While his comrade was talking, Brandolaccio was laying bread and meat in front of him.  He helped himself—­then he gave some food to this dog, whom he introduced to Orso under the name of Brusco, as an animal possessing a wonderful instinct for recognising a soldier, whatever might be the disguise he had assumed.  Lastly, he cut off a hunch of bread and a slice of raw ham, and gave them to his niece.  “Oh, the merry life a bandit lives!” cried the student of theology, after he had swallowed a few mouthfuls.  “You’ll try it some day, perhaps, Signor della Rebbia, and you’ll find out how delightful it is to acknowledge no master save one’s own fancy!”

Hitherto the bandit had talked Italian.  He now proceeded in French.

“Corsica is not a very amusing country for a young man to live in—­but for a bandit, there’s the difference!  The women are all wild about us.  I, as you see me now, have three mistresses in three different villages.  I am at home in every one of them, and one of the ladies is married to a gendarme!”

“You know many languages, monsieur!” said Orso gravely.

“If I talk French, ’tis because, look you, maxima debetur pueris reverentia!  We have made up our minds, Brandolaccio and I, that the little girl shall turn out well, and go straight.”

“When she is turned fifteen,” remarked Chilina’s uncle, “I’ll find a good husband for her.  I have one in my eye already.”

“Shall you make the proposal yourself?” said Orso.

“Of course!  Do you suppose that any well-to-do man in this neighbourhood, to whom I said, ’I should be glad to see a marriage between your son and Michilina Savelli,’ would require any pressing?”

“I wouldn’t advise him to!” quoth the other bandit.  “Friend Brandolaccio has rather a heavy hand!”

“If I were a rogue,” continued Brandolaccio, “a blackguard, a forger, I should only have to hold my wallet open, and the five-franc pieces would rain into it.”