"That's it!" he thought; "why am I here with this man who betrayed my mother and flung her into a bad life? I don't exactly love him, and I certainly don't hate him, but what I ought is to despise him. He is not wicked; he's not completely trivial like the majority of our neighbours. Sometimes I feel quite fond of him, when I hear his simple talk about treasure hunting, when I see his respectful affection for his elderly wife, his unchanging fidelity to his master. But I ought to despise him! I wish to despise him! What claim has he on me? Did I ask him to bring me into the world? I ought certainly to leave him now I understand----" But gratitude, affection, much confidence, bound him to Aunt Tatàna. She lived almost exclusively for him. She adored him, though she had not succeeded in making him what she would have liked, a pious and obedient boy, reverent of God and the king and the priests. She saw, alas I that he was wrong-headed and self-sufficient, but she loved him none the less. She laughed and jested with him; she taught him to dance; she amused him with all the gossip of the place. Every morning before he was up she brought him a cup of coffee. Every Sunday she promised him money if he would go to mass. "I'm too sleepy," he would say. "I worked so hard last night." "Go later," she would insist. Anania did not go, but Aunt Tatàna gave him the money all the same. The day after his idyllic dream, woven of the moonlight which streamed in at his little window, Anania took Zuanne for a walk, starting with the intention of treating his friend to a cup of aniseed at the tavern. "Who knows when we shall meet again!" sighed the shepherd. "When are you coming to see us?" "I can't" said Anania, seeking an excuse, "I have to work so hard. I ought to finish with the Gymnasium this year." "And then where are you going? To the continent?" "Yes! to Rome!" "There are a great many convents at Rome, aren't there? And more than a hundred churches." "A good many more than a hundred. Who told you?" "Your father, last night. He said when he was a soldier----" "Are you to be a soldier?" "No; my brother. I----" He interrupted himself. They entered the tavern. It was empty, smelling of tobacco and spirits, swarming with flies. A girl was sitting on the bench. She was dark, and very handsome, though untidy and dirty. "Good-morning. Agata." "What do you want?" she asked, getting up and turning familiarly to Anania. "What would you like?" Anania asked the shepherd. "I don't mind," said Zuanne embarrassed. The girl mimicked him, looking Anania in the face. He returned her look. Zuanne grew red, and looked at the floor. When they came out he asked shyly. "Is that one your sweetheart too?" Anania was half-flattered, half-angry. "What makes you think that? Because she looked at me? Good gracious, what are eyes for? You intend to be a monk, I suppose?" "Yes," said Zuanne simply.