days, or even a few hours, yet he had conquered his own obstinacy.

What Fausch thought of and reasoned out during the rest of the night,
as he walked up and down the room, Simeon, the landlord learned on the
following morning, and the others might guess it later if they chose.

In the morning, not very early, for haste was not according to Fausch's
habits, he went to see the landlord. "May I have another word with
you?" he asked.

The very fact that the taciturn fellow came of his own accord
astonished Simmen. He willingly opened the door of his little office
for him, sat down once more at his table, and Fausch stood on the very
same spot as on the previous evening. Everything in the little room was
just the same, except that the lamp was not burning. A gray light
reflected from a bare rocky slope, filled the room.

"Have you anything against the boy himself, just as he really is,"
began Fausch without any preamble.

Now Simmen had slept the whole long night since yesterday's fit of
anger, and in the morning his wife, who was quieter than he, and rather
peaceable for all that she was so resolute, had interposed between him
and the stubborn Vincenza to such good purpose that his anger had
passed away. He listened to Fausch's question quietly, settled himself
comfortably in his chair, and answered: "What should I have against
him? On the contrary, he is handy, very useful and a confoundedly
handsome fellow, only you must send him away, Fausch--it wouldn't suit
me at all, what was beginning between my daughter and him, that--"

He said all this quietly, sometimes making a gesture to explain his
words better. When he paused, Fausch began to speak. Simmen could not
understand the first word that he spoke, he brought it out with so much
difficulty, and only gradually did his speech become clearer and more
connected.

"I--I--want to ask you," he began--"keep him here, my boy. I marked him
with that name--so that everybody points at him. I--did him an
injustice! Don't send him away for that. I--"

Fausch had to pause a moment. The sweat stood on his dark forehead. He
passed his hand helplessly across it.

"Yes, yes," said Simmen meanwhile, "What you say is all very true,
but--still he can't stay here, where he will see Vincenza every day--"

Fausch came nearer and interrupted the landlord. Still in the same
broken and difficult way he went on: "You said yourself that the boy is
all right. He ought to come into noti