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620 him go to Fano. It is right that he should learn all the particulars of the new law, since they touch him so nearly.”

“He talks of going on Saturday.”

Saturday was the Fano market-day, on which large numbers of the countrymen of the neighbouring districts (more of those from the surrounding plains, however, than of the hill-people) were wont to assemble in the great piazza of the city.

“I am going in myself, on Saturday,” replied the priest. “Suppose—or—no,” he added, after a little meditation; “tell him that there is something to be done,—that you cannot well spare him on Saturday; but that he may go on the following day. I may just as well see Signor Sandro myself, and perhaps La Giulia, too, before he goes in.”

Old farmer Vanni, who, in fact, scarcely ventured on an action, in any direction, without the advice and approbation of his friend Don Evandro, was, as is generally the case with hen-pecked husbands and priest-ridden laymen, specially unwilling to be thought to be guided by the curator’s advice. So he said nothing that night in reply to his son’s proposal; but while they were at their work the next morning, which was the Friday, he told him that he was loth that the hoeing of the bean-crop should be left till it was finished; rain might come—most likely would come—and then, where should they be. If he would stay to-morrow, and get the job finished, he should go to Fano on Sunday.

So it was settled that Beppo was to go into the city on the Sunday.

the Sunday morning, accordingly, Beppo started on his way to Fano. The priest had made his intended visit to the city on the Saturday, and had come home at night. But none of the Bella Luce family had seen him since his return. Beppo’s heart beat fast as he found himself nearing the city; and, in his nervous impatience, he could not forbear from pushing on his horse to a speed that brought him to the end of his journey a good half-hour earlier than he had calculated on arriving. In the deadest and sleepiest of Italian cities there always is a little more stir and life on a Sunday than on other days. And this extra movement is not wholly ecclesiastical in its character. Sunday is the great day for recreation and amusement of all kinds, not despite the efforts of the clergy to make it otherwise, but with their approval and sanction. But there are various sorts of secular business, not partaking in any degree of the nature of diversion, which are apt to fall into the course of the Sunday’s occupations. It is naturally the day on which the country can most easily come into town. Such shops as they may be likely to need are apt to be open; and such business as may involve interviews between them and the denizens of the city are wont to be transacted.

Beppo, having put up his horse at the osteria used by the contadini from his part of the country, hurried to the house of Signor Sandro. From him he could learn all he wanted to know about the conscription, and from Lisa he doubted not that he should be able to find out the whereabouts of the house in which his treasure was lodged;—a circumstance of which he had as yet been able to ascertain nothing;—for, of course, neither his father nor Don Evandro were likely to afford him any information upon this subject. Indeed, Signor Paolo did not himself know where the house of Giulia’s mistress was situated.

It was about eleven o’clock when Beppo reached the attorney’s house. The little man was in his office; and Beppo was told that he must wait in a passage, where three or four other countrymen, in their best Sunday attire, were already waiting, seated on a long bench against the wall, till their turn should come to be admitted to the attorney’s presence.

Had they been townsmen, they would all, however much previously strangers to each other, have been in full conversation together. But being contadini they sate in silence, with care-worn anxious faces, but with meek-eyed patience, till the great authority sitting in that awful sanctum on the other side of the partition-wall should be ready to receive them, and give them the fateful answers of the oracle. But Beppo, in his anxiety, had raised his voice in speaking with the servant-girl who had opened the door to him; and the attorney, having overheard and recognised it, came hurrying out of his den with his pen in his hand.

“What, Signor Beppo! Is it you? What good chance is it brings you to Fano? Delighted to see you, as we always are!”

“There were two or three things, Signor Sandro—” began Beppo, slowly and timidly; but the brisk little man cut him short.

“Look here, Signor Beppo!” he said, taking him by the button, and drawing him a little down the passage away from the men who were sitting there, and dropping his voice to a whisper; “you see how it is—all these people waiting to see me! Never was so busy! All through this troublesome conscription! Have not a minute to spare! But, look here; come back at one, and eat a bit of dinner with us. Poor Lisa will be so delighted to see you; and I know your visit is more to her than to me. Ah, you young fellows! Well, I was young myself once! And then we shall have leisure for a little talk. A riveder—la! At one, mind! And Beppo,” added the little man, standing on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, “Lisa is gone to mass at the Church of the Servites. If you should happen to fall in with her there, don’t tell her that I told you so.”

And so saying he opened the door for his visitor, and hurried back to the discussion of exemptions and substitutes with his clients.

Beppo, with thus nearly two hours on his hands, did not, despite his being utterly at a loss how to get rid of them, feel much inclined to go to the Servite Church. He wanted to have some conversation with Lisa, too. But the very evident hints of Signor Sandro, to the effect that it was expected of him that he should make love to her had the effect of making him feel shy. It takes so much to make an Italian of the cities feel shy, and so