“Body of Bacchus!’” involuntarily exclaimed Don Rocco.

“If I am familiar with the kitchen,” continued the Moro, “it is because I must have come here fifty times of an evening when you were not here, to eat and drink with Lucia.  Perhaps you have even found that some few francs were missing...”

“I know nothing about it; no, I know nothing about it!” mumbled Don Rocco.

“Some of those few small bills in your box, first compartment to the left at the bottom.”

Don Rocco gave forth a low exclamation of surprise and pain.

“Now, as for me, I have gotten through stealing,” continued he; “but that witch would carry off even your house.  She is a bad woman, a bad woman!  We must get rid of her.  Do you remember that shirt that you missed last year?  I have it on now and she gave it to me.  I cannot give it back because...”

“Never mind, don’t bother, never mind,” interrupted Don Rocco.  “I’ll give it to you.”

“Then there were some glasses of wine, but I didn’t drink them all myself.  And then there is the silver snuff-box with the portrait of Pius Ninth.”

“Body of Bacchus!” exclaimed Don Rocco, who thought he still had in his box that precious snuff-box given him by an old colleague.  “That also?”

“I drank it; yes, sir, it took me fifteen days.  Do not get excited, for we are in confession.”

“What’s that?”

It was a noise against the gate of the courtyard.  A hard knock or a stone.

“It is evil-doers,” said the Moro.  “Rascally night-birds.  Or perhaps some sick person.  I’ll go at once to find out.”

“Yes, yes,” said Don Rocco hastily.

“I will go and return to-morrow,” continued the other, “for I see that you certainly do not care to confess me to-night.”

He took out some matches and re-lighted the lamp, saying: 

“Listen, Don Rocco, I want to be an honest man and work; but I must change my residence, and for the first few days how can I get along?  You understand what I mean.”

Don Rocco scratched his head.

“You are to come to-morrow morning of course,” he said.

“Naturally!  But I have a few debts here; and going around in broad daylight, I should like to show my face without being ashamed.”

“Very well,” responded Don Rocco, frowning considerably, but in a benevolent tone.  “Wait a moment.”

He took a lamp, left the sitting-room, and returned immediately with a ten-franc bill.

“Here you are,” said he.

The man thanked him and left, accompanied by the priest, who carried the lamp as far as the middle of the courtyard and waited there until the Moro called to him from outside the gateway that no one was there.  Then Don Rocco went to close the gate, and re-entered the house.