"So far," the old man continued, "you have never heard me—let us say—either approve or disapprove of your plan. Perhaps I did not feel quite sure you would carry it out. But now——"
Franco stretched out both hands to him. "Now," Uncle Piero went on, pressing those hands in his own, "seeing you are firm in your resolve, I say to you: Your resolve is good. We are in need, go; work, work is a great thing! May God help you to begin well, and then help you to persevere, which is a far more difficult thing. There!"
Franco would have kissed his hands, but he was quick to withdraw them. "Let them alone! Let them alone!" And he once more began to speak.
"Now listen. It is quite possible we may never meet again." Franco protested. "Yes, yes, yes!" the old man exclaimed, withdrawing his soul from his eyes and voice. "Those are all fine things, things that must be said. But let them go!"
The eyes once more resumed their kindly and serious light, and the voice its grave tone.
"It is quite possible we shall never meet again. After all, I put it to you, what good am I now in this world? It would be far better for you if I took my departure. Perhaps your grandmother resents my having taken you in; perhaps, if I were gone, it would be easier for her to accept a reconciliation. Therefore, supposing we never meet again, I beg you to make some overtures to her as soon as I am dead, if things have not already been arranged."
Franco rose and embraced his uncle with tears in his eyes.
"I have made no will," Uncle Piero continued, "and I shall not make one. What little I have belongs to Luisa; no will is necessary. I commend Cia to your care. Do not let her want for a bed and a crust of bread. As to my funeral, three priests will suffice to sing my requiem with true feeling; our own priest, Intrioni, and the Prefect of Caravina. There is no necessity of having five, who will sing it for love of the candles and the white wine. Leave the question of my clothes to Luisa, she will know what to do with them. You yourself will keep my repeater to remind you of me. I should like to leave Maria a keepsake, but what shall it be? I might give her a piece of my gold chain. If you have a little medallion or a crucifix you may attach it to my chain and hang it round her neck. And now, Amen!"
Franco was in tears. It was a great shock to hear the uncle speak of his death thus calmly, as if it had been some matter of business which must be arranged judiciously and honestly; the uncle who, when conversing with his friends, seemed so deeply attached to life that he would often say: "If one could only avoid that inevitable breakdown!!"
"Ah! Now tell me," said Uncle Piero, "what sort of work do you expect to find?"