nce, and said: 'Oh, M. le Cure' (they always call me
that), 'please excuse me--give me time. I have only been able to get
fifty-five francs together! Honour bright, that's all I've been able to
scrape up.' I, in my astonishment, said, 'Fifty-five francs! What do
you mean, you rascal!' 'I mean sixty-five,' he replied; 'but as for the
hundred francs you asked me to give you, it's not possible.' 'What! you
villain! I ask you for a hundred francs? I don't know who you are.' Then
he showed me a letter, or rather a dirty rag of paper, whereby he was
summoned to deposit a hundred francs on a certain spot, on pain
of having his house burned and his cows killed by Giocanto
Castriconi--that's my name. And they had been vile enough to forge
my signature! What annoyed me most was that the letter was written in
_patois_, and was full of mistakes in spelling--I who won every prize at
the university! I began by giving my rascal a cuff that made him twist
round and round. 'Aha! You take me for a thief, blackguard that you
are!' I said, and I gave him a hearty kick, you know where. Then feeling
rather better, I went on, 'When are you to take the money to the spot
mentioned in the letter?' 'This very day.' 'Very good, then take it
there!' It was at the foot of a pine-tree, and the place had been
exactly described. He brought the money, buried it at the foot of the
tree, and came and joined me. I had hidden myself close by. There I
stayed, with my man, for six mortal hours, M. della Rebbia. I'd have
staid three days, if it had been necessary. At the end of six hours a
_Bastiaccio_, a vile money-lender, made his appearance. As he bent down
to take up the money, I fired, and I had aimed so well that, as he fell,
his head dropped upon the coins he was unearthing. 'Now, rascal,' said
I to the peasant, 'take your money, and never dare to suspect Giocanto
Castriconi of a mean trick again!'

"The poor devil, all of a tremble, picked up his sixty-five francs
without taking the trouble to wipe them. He thanked me, I gave him a
good parting kick, and he may be running away still, for all I know."

"Ah, cure!" said Brandolaccio, "I envy you that shot! How you must have
laughed!"

"I had hit the money-lender in the temple," the bandit went on, "and
that reminded me of Virgil's lines:

. . . "'Liquefacto tempora plumbo
Diffidit, ac multa porrectum, extendit arena.'

"_Liquefacto!_ Do you think, Signor Orso, that the rapidity with which