with one stone. But with all deference,
excellency, have you really retrieved your fortunes?"

"And yours," said Asabri. "Indeed, I am to-day as rich as ever I was,
with the exception"--his eyes twinkled behind his goggles--"of about a
hundred and fifty thousand lire."

The sullen brigand whistled; and although the roads were rough, they
proceeded, thanks to the shock-absorbers on Asabri's car, in complete
comfort, at a great pace.

In the village nearest to the property upon which the sullen brigand had
cast his eye, they picked up a notary through whom to effect the
purchase.

The little farm was rather stony, but sweet to the eye as a bouquet of
flowers, with the deep greens of the figs and grapes and the silvery
greens of the olives. Furthermore, there were roses in the door-yard,
and the young and childless widow to whom the homestead belonged stood
among the roses. She was brown and scarlet, and her eyes were black and
merry.

Yes, yes, she agreed, she would sell! There was a mortgage on the place.
She intended to pay that off and have a little over. True, the place
paid. But, Good Lord, she lived all alone, and she didn't enjoy that!

They invited the pretty widow to luncheon, and she helped them spread
the cloth under a fig tree that had thrown shade for five hundred
years. Asabri passed the champagne, and they all became very merry
together. Indeed, the sullen brigand became so merry and happy that he
no longer addressed Asabri respectfully as "excellency," but gratefully
and affectionately as "my father."

This one became more and more delighted with the term, until finally he
said:

"It is true, that in a sense I am this young man's father, since I
believe that if I were to advise him to do a certain thing he would do
it."

"That is God's truth," cried the sullen brigand; "if he advised me to
advance single-handed against the hosts of hell, I should do so."

"My son," said Asabri, "our fair guest affirms that upon this beautiful
little farm she has had everything that she could wish except
companionship. Are you not afraid that you, in your turn, will here
suffer from loneliness?" He turned to the pretty widow. "I wish," said
he, "to address myself to you in behalf of this young man."

The others became very silent. The notary lifted his glass to his lips.
The widow blushed. Said she:

"I like his looks well enough; but I know nothing about him."

"I can tell you this," said Asabri, "that he