"_Socialista!_ _Anarchico!_ _Figlio d'un prete!_ _Assassino!_" screamed the _fiaccheraio_. "_Figlio d'una--!_" yelled the _barocciaio_. "Here now," said Angelescu authoritatively, thinking they had gone quite far enough and annoyed by the uproar, "stop that bawling or I'll give you both in charge. You were on the wrong side of the road and you were asleep," he said to the lowering _barocciaio_, "so if you fell off it was your own fault. However, here's a lira for you, and now pull aside and let us pass." He tossed a silver coin to the man whose ill-humour disappeared as though by magic, he even touched his cap and wished the "Signori" a "_Buona passeggiata_" as he led his horse by. The little dog had stopped barking and sat on his haunches regarding them with bright intelligent eyes, his fluffy ears pointed forward, a tip of his pink tongue showing under his truffle-like muzzle. The _fiaccheraio_ shook his head apologetically. "_He vuole_, Signore, those people have no education, they will make a bad end. Did you hear what he said about aristocrats? But that is nothing, you should hear what they say in their socialistic meetings! They will end like that Brescia who murdered our good King. It is a bad thing for people of no education to talk too much. _Madonna dé fiaccherai!_ to think that such _farabutti_ should take the bread from honest men's mouths!" "You are hard on them," said Angelescu. "Ah, Signore mio, you do not know our _beceri_, and what they are capable of! It is a bad world and one must work hard for a _tozzo di pane_ and a glass of _vin nero_--and these _merli_ wish to live without working, and that is a thing which has never been since the world began. They say to us others, 'aha, _minchioni_, we will live on your shoulders!'" Angelescu amused, continued to draw the old man out; the shrewd mother-wit and quaint phrases of the old Florentine were a source of delight to him. Ragna leaned back, indifferent, lost in the pleasant labyrinth of her day-dreams.