“Beastly habits, beastly habits,” pronounced Don Rocco, frowning and looking into his handkerchief, which he held under his nose with both hands.

“In fine, I am going to confess,” insisted the man.  “Hush, now, don’t say no!  You will hear some stiff ones.”

“Not now, really not now,” protested Don Rocco, rising.  “You are not prepared at present.  We will now thank the Lord and the Virgin who have touched your heart, and then you will go home.  To-morrow you will come to holy Mass, and after Mass we will meet together again.”

“Very well,” answered the Moro.  “Go ahead.”

Don Rocco got down on his knees near the lounge and, with his head turned, seemed to wait for the other to follow his example.

“Go ahead,” said the Moro.  “I have a bad knee and will say my prayers seated.”

“Very well; sit here on the sofa, near me, where you will be more comfortable; accompany my words with your heart, and keep your eyes fixed on that crucifix in front of you.  Come, like a good fellow, and we will pray the Lord and the Virgin to keep you in so good a state of mind that you may have the fortune to make a good confession.  Come, like a good, devout fellow!”

Having said this, Don Rocco began to recite Paters and Aves, often devoutly raising his knitted brows.  The Moro answered him from his seat on the sofa.  He seemed to be the confessor and the priest the penitent.

Finally, Don Rocco crossed himself and got up.

“Now sit right here while I confess,” said the Moro, as if there were nothing against it.  But Don Rocco caught him up.  Had they not already arranged that he should confess the next day?  But the other would not listen with that ear, and continued hammering away at his request with obstinate placidity.

“Let us stop this,” he said, all at once.  “Pay attention, for I am beginning!”

“But I tell you that it is not possible and that I will not have it,” replied Don Rocco.  “Go home, I tell you!  I am going to bed at once.”

He started to leave; but the Moro was too quick for him, rushed to the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket.

“No, sir! you don’t go out of here!  Might I not die to-night?  Wouldn’t I, if the Lord just blew on me like this?”

And he blew on the petroleum lamp and put it out.

“And if I go to hell,” he continued in a sepulchral voice, in the dark, “you will go there too!”

The poor priest, at this unexpected violence, in the midst of this darkness, lost his presence of mind.  He no longer knew where he was, and kept saying, “Let us go, let us go,” trying to find the sofa, beating the air with his extended hands.  The Moro lighted a match on his sleeve, and Don Rocco had a glimpse of the table, of the chairs, and of his strange penitent, before it became darker than ever.

“Could you see?  Now I shall begin; with the biggest sin.  It is fifteen years since I have been to confession, but my biggest sin is that I have made love to that ugly creature, your servant.”