ll into pieces almost at a touch, though it was tough and
stringy. The host watched the operation approvingly. At that time it was
forbidden to carry such knives in Rome, unless the point were round and
blunt. The Roman always stabs; he never cuts his man's throat in a fight
or in a murder.

"It is a prohibited weapon," observed the fat man, smiling, "but it is
very beautiful. Poor Christian, if he finds it between his ribs! He
would soon be cold. It is a consolation at night to have such a toy."

"Truly, it is the consolation of my soul," answered Stefanone.

"Say a little, dear friend," said the fat man, sitting down and resting
his bare elbows upon the table, "that arm, has it ever sent any one to
Paradise?"

"And then I should tell you!" exclaimed Stefanone, laughing, and he
sipped some wine and smacked his lips. "But no," he added presently. "I
am a pacific man. If they touch me--woe! But I, to touch any one? Not
even a fly."

"Thus I like men," said the host, "serious, full of scruples, people who
drink well, quiet, quiet, and pay better."

"So we are at Subiaco," answered Stefanone.

He cleaned his knife on a piece of bread very carefully, laid it open
beside him, and threw the crust to a lean dog that appeared suddenly
from beneath the table, as though it had come up through a trap-door;
the half-famished creature bolted the bread with a snap and a gulp and
disappeared again as suddenly and silently, just in time to avoid the
fat man's slow, heavy hand.

When he had finished eating, Stefanone produced his little piece of
oilstone, which he carried wrapped in dingy paper, and having greased it
proceeded to draw the blade over it slowly and smoothly.

"Apoplexy!" ejaculated the host. "Are you not contented? Or perhaps you
wish to shave with it?"

"Thus I keep it," answered the peasant, smiling. "A minute here, a
minute there. The time costs nothing. What am I doing? Nothing. I
digest. To pass the time I sharpen the knife. I am like this. I say it
is a sin to waste time."

Every now and then he sipped his wine, but there was no perceptible
change in his manner, for he was careful to keep himself just at the
same level of excitement, neither more nor less.

Half an hour later he was smoking his pipe in the Piazza di Spagna,
lounging near the great fountain in the sunshine, his eyes generally
turned towards the door of the hotel. He waited a long time, and
replenished his pipe more than once.

"This