when he had momentarily got rid of his double, as
sometimes happened when he was out of doors.

One day, the month having passed again, Stefanone came for his money. It
was very little, and the old peasant would willingly have undertaken
that the work should be done for nothing. But he was interested in Paul
Griggs, and he was growing very impatient because he could not get an
opportunity of falling upon Lord Redin in a quiet place. He had formed a
new plan of almost childlike simplicity. When Griggs had paid him the
money, he lingered a moment and looked about the room.

"Signore, you have changed the furniture," he observed. "That chair was
formerly here. This table used to be there. There are a thousand
changes."

"Yes," said Griggs, taking up his pen to go on with his work. "You have
good eyes," he added good-naturedly.

"Two," assented Stefanone; "each better than the other. For instance, I
will tell you. When that chair was by the window, there was a little
table beside it. On the table was the work-basket of your poor Signora,
whom may the Lord preserve in glory! Is it truth?"

"Yes," answered Griggs, with perfect indifference. "It is quite true."

The allusion did not pain him, the man who was talking with Stefanone.
It would perhaps hurt the other man when he thought of it later.

"Signore," said Stefanone, who evidently had something in his mind, "I
was thinking in the night, and this thought came to me. The dead are
dead. Requiescant! It is better for the living to live in holy peace.
You never see the father of the Signora. There is bad blood between you.
This was my thought--let them be reconciled, and spend an evening
together. They will speak of the dead one. They will shed tears. They
will embrace. Let the enmity be finished. In this way they will enjoy
life more."

"You are crazy, Stefanone," answered Griggs, impatiently. "But how do
you know who is the father of the Signora?"

"Every one knows it, Signore!" replied the peasant, with well-feigned
sincerity. "Every one knows that it is the great English lord who lives
at the hotel in the Piazza di Spagna this year. Signore, I have said a
word. You must not take it ill. Enmity is bad. Friendship is a good
thing. And then it is simple. With maccaroni one makes acquaintance
again. There is the Falcone, but it would be better here. We will cook
the maccaroni in the kitchen; you will eat on this table. What are all
these papers for? Study, study! A