"Tell me," she began, on a deep note, a deep coaxing note.... Then _I dare not_ got the better, and she held back.... Then _I would_ took his courage in both hands, and she plunged. "What have you brought for me from Roccadoro?" And after one glance of half-bashful, all-impassioned supplication, she let her eyes drop, and stood before him suspensive, as one awaiting the word of destiny. John's "radiant blondeur," his yellow beard, pink face, and sea-blue eyes, lighted up, more radiant still, with subcutaneous laughter. "The shops were shut," he said. "I arrived after closing time." But something in his tone rendered this grim announcement nugatory. Annunziata drew a long breath, and looked up again. "You have brought me something, all the same," she declared with conviction; and eagerly, eyes gleaming, "What is it? What is it?" she besought him. John laughed. "You are quite right," he said. "If one can't buy, beg, or borrow, in this world, one can generally steal." Annunziata drew away, regarded him with misgiving. "Oh, no; you would never steal," she protested. "I'm not so sure--for one I loved," said he. "What would you have liked me to bring you?" Annunziata thought. "I liked those chocolate cigars," she said, her face soft with reminiscence of delight. "Ah, but we mustn't have it _toujours perdrix_," said John. "Do you, by any chance, like marchpane?" "Marchpane?--I adore it," she answered, in an outburst of emotion. "You have your human weaknesses, after all," John laughed. "Well, I stole a pocketful of marchpane." Annunziata drew away again, her little white forehead furrowed. "Stole?" she repeated, reluctant to believe. "Yes," said he, brazenly, nodding his head. "Oh, that was very wrong," said Annunziata, sadly shaking hers. "No," said he. "Because, in the first place, it's a matter of proverbial wisdom that stolen marchpane's sweetest. And, in the next place, I stole it quite openly, under the eye of the person it belonged to, and she made no effort to defend her property. Seeing which, I even went so far as to explain to her _why_ I was stealing it. 'There's a young limb o' mischief with a sweet tooth at Sant' Alessina,' I explained, 'who regularly levies blackmail upon me. I'm stealing this for her.' And then the lady I was stealing from told me I might steal as much as ever I thought good." "Oh-h-h," said Annunziata, a long-drawn _Oh_ of relief. "Then you didn't steal it--she _gave_ it to you." "Well," said John, "if casuistry like that can ease your conscience--if you feel that you can conscientiously receive it--" And he allowed his inflection to complete the sentence. "Give it to me," said Annunziata, holding out her hands, and dancing up and down in glee and in impatience. "Nenni-dà," said John. "Not till after dinner. I'm not going to be a party to the spoiling of a fair, young, healthy appetite." Pain wrote itself upon Annunziata's brow. "Oh," she grieved, "must I wait till after dinner?"