at must be
said. But let them go!"

The eyes once more resumed their kindly and serious light, and the voice
its grave tone.

"It is quite possible we shall never meet again. After all, I put it to
you, what good am I now in this world? It would be far better for you if
I took my departure. Perhaps your grandmother resents my having taken
you in; perhaps, if I were gone, it would be easier for her to accept a
reconciliation. Therefore, supposing we never meet again, I beg you to
make some overtures to her as soon as I am dead, if things have not
already been arranged."

Franco rose and embraced his uncle with tears in his eyes.

"I have made no will," Uncle Piero continued, "and I shall not make one.
What little I have belongs to Luisa; no will is necessary. I commend Cia
to your care. Do not let her want for a bed and a crust of bread. As to
my funeral, three priests will suffice to sing my _requiem_ with true
feeling; our own priest, Intrioni, and the Prefect of Caravina. There is
no necessity of having five, who will sing it for love of the candles
and the white wine. Leave the question of my clothes to Luisa, she will
know what to do with them. You yourself will keep my repeater to remind
you of me. I should like to leave Maria a keepsake, but what shall it
be? I might give her a piece of my gold chain. If you have a little
medallion or a crucifix you may attach it to my chain and hang it round
her neck. And now, Amen!"

Franco was in tears. It was a great shock to hear the uncle speak of his
death thus calmly, as if it had been some matter of business which must
be arranged judiciously and honestly; the uncle who, when conversing
with his friends, seemed so deeply attached to life that he would often
say: "If one could only avoid that inevitable breakdown!!"

"Ah! Now tell me," said Uncle Piero, "what sort of work do you expect to
find?"

"T. writes that at first I am to go into a newspaper office in Turin.
Perhaps I shall find something better later on. If I don't earn enough
to live on in the office, and nothing else turns up, I shall come back.
Therefore all this must be kept perfectly secret--at least, for a time."

Uncle Piero was incredulous concerning the possibility of secrecy. "And
how about the letters?" he inquired.

As to letters, it had been arranged that Franco should address his to
the postoffice at Lugano, and Ismaele would take those from the family
to Lugano, and bring back his. And wha