The contadino was glad to get away unquestioned; and, unlocking the door, he issued forth from his house. At first he did not turn his steps toward the villa, but took a path which led down to the river. At the distance of some hundred or hundred and fifty yards, however, where the trees screened him from his own dwelling, he looked round to see that none of his family followed, and then turned directly up the little rise. When near the terrace he saw a man coming down the steps toward him, and suddenly paused; but a moment's observation showed him that he need have no alarm. The person who approached was no other than Antonio, between whom and the good peasant a considerable intimacy had sprung up since Lorenzo Visconti had been at the Villa Rovera. Would you taste the best wine on an estate, or eat the sweetest fig of the season, make friends with the contadino and his family; and, perhaps acting on this maxim, Antonio had often been down to pass an hour or two with Giovanozzo, and enliven the whole household with his jests. "The very man," said the contadino to himself; "he'll tell me just what I ought to do. He has travelled, and seen all manner of things. He is just the person. Signor Antonio, good morning to your excellency! What is in the wind to-day?" "Nothing but a strong scent of dead carrion that I can smell," answered Antonio. "Well," said the contadino, with a grin, "I do not wonder, for there's carrion down at our house, and the worst carrion a man think of, for it's not only dead carrion, but live carrion, too." "Alive with maggots. I take you," answered Antonio; "that is a shallow conceit, Giovanozzo. It hardly needs an ell yard to plumb that." "Nay, nay you are not at the bottom of it yet," replied the peasant; "it is alive and dead, and yet no maggots in it." "Then the maggots are in thy brain," answered Antonio. "But speak plainly, man, speak plainly. If you keep hammering my head with enigmas, I shall have no brains left to understand your real meaning." "Well, then, signor," said the contadino, gravely, "I want advice." "And, like a wise man, come to me," replied his companion; "mine is the very shop to find it; I have plenty always on hand for my customers, never using any of it myself, and receiving it fresh daily from those who have it to spare. What sort of advice will you have, Giovanozzo? the advice interested or disinterested--the advice fraternal or paternal--the advice minatory, or monitory, or consolatory--the advice cynical or philosophical?" "Nay, but this is a serious matter, signor," answered the contadino. "Then you shall have serious advice," answered Antonio. "Proceed. Lay the case before me in such figures as may best suit its condition, and I will try and fit my advice thereunto as tight as a jerkin made by a tailor who loves cabbage more than may consist with the ease of his customers."