youngest brigand laid a hand that trembled upon Asabri's arm.

"Oh, my father," he said, "these doves are already cooing! And it is
very far to the place where I would be."

But Asabri went first to the fig tree, and he said to the widow:

"Is all well?"

"Yes," she said, "we have agreed to differ for the rest of our lives. It
seems that this stupid fellow needs somebody to look after him. And it
seems to be God's will that that somebody should be I."

"Bless you then, my children," said Asabri; "and farewell! I shall come
to the wedding."

They returned the notary to his little home in the village; and the fees
which he was to receive for the documents which he was to draw up made
him so happy that he flung his arms about his wife, who was rather a
prim person, and fell to kissing her with the most boisterous good will.

It was dusk when they reached the village in which the sweetheart of the
youngest brigand lived. Asabri thought that he had never seen a girl
more exquisite.

"And we have loved each other," said the youngest brigand, his arm about
her firm, round waist, "since we were children.... I think I am dying, I
am so happy."

"Shall you buy a farm, a barge, a business?" asked the banker.

"Whatever is decided," said the girl, "it will be a paradise."

Her old father came out of the house.

"I have counted the money. It is correct."

Then he rolled his fat eyes heavenward, just as the youngest brigand had
prophesied, and said: "Bless you, my children!"

"I must be going," said Asabri; "but there is one thing."

Four dark luminous eyes looked into his.

"You have not kissed," said Asabri; "let it be now, so that I may
remember."

Without embarrassment, the young brigand and his sweetheart folded their
arms closely about each other, and kissed each other, once, slowly, with
infinite tenderness.

"I am nineteen," said the youngest brigand; then, and he looked
heavenward: "God help us to forget the years that have been wasted!"

Asabri drove toward Rome, his headlights piercing the darkness. The
champagne was no longer in his blood. He was in a calm, judicial mood.

"To think," he said to himself, "that for a mere matter of a hundred and
fifty thousand lire, a rich old man can be young again for a day or
two!"

It was nearly one o'clock when he reached his palace in Rome. Luigi,
the valet, was sitting up for him, as usual.

"This is the second time in three days," said Luigi, "that you ha