o have said anything! May he die, the Englishman,
he, and whoever made him, with the whole family! An evil death on him
and all his house!"

"So long as you do not make me die, too!" exclaimed Sor Tommaso, with
rather a pitying smile.

"Eh! To die--it is soon said! And yet, people do die. You, who are a
doctor, should know that. And you do not wish to have said anything!
Bravo, doctor! Words are words. And yet they can sting. And after a
thousand years, they still sting. You--what can you understand? Are you
perhaps a father? You have not even a wife. Oh, blessed be God! You do
not even know what you are saying. You know nothing. You think, perhaps,
because you are a doctor, that you know more than I do. I will tell you
that you are an ignorant!"

"Oh, beautiful!" cried the doctor, angrily, stung by what is still
almost a mortal insult. "You--to me--ignorant! Oh, beautiful, most
beautiful, this! From a peasant to a man of science! Perhaps you too
have a diploma from the University of the Sapienza--"

"If I had, I should wrap half a pound of sliced ham--fat ham, you
know--in it, for the first customer. What should I do with your
diplomas! I ask you, what do you know? Do you know at all what a
daughter is? Blood of my blood, heart of my heart, hand of this hand.
But I am a peasant, and you are a doctor. Therefore, I know nothing."

"And meanwhile you give me 'ignorant' in my face!" retorted Sor Tommaso.

"Yes--and I repeat it!" cried Stefanone, leaning forwards, his clenched
hand on the table. "I say it twice, three times--ignorant, ignorant,
ignorant! Have you understood?"

"Say it louder! In that way every one can hear you! Beast of a
sheep-grazer!"

"And you--crow-feeder! Furnisher of grave-diggers. And then--ignorant!
Oh--this time I have said it clearly!"

"And it seems to me that it is enough!" roared the doctor, across the
table. "Ciociaro! Take that!"

"Ciociaro? I? Oh, your soul! If I get hold of you with my hands!"

A 'ciociaro' is a hill-man who wears 'cioce,' or rags, bound upon his
feet with leathern sandals and thongs. He is generally a shepherd, and
is held in contempt by the more respectable people of the larger
mountain towns. To call a man a 'ciociaro' is a bitter insult.

Stefanone in his anger had half risen from his seat. But the wooden
bench on which he had been sitting was close to the wall behind him, and
the heavy oak table was pushed up within a few inches of his chest, so
that his