‘The world is wide, and open to all of us, cara mia,’ said the youth good-humouredly. ‘Don’t be angry with me because I ‘m not a brigand.’
‘He says truly,’ said the old man.
‘Sangue dei Santi, but you have given me a hearty fright, boy, what ever brought you here!’ said the fat old woman, as she wiped the hot drops from her steaming face.
There is some marvellous freemasonry in poverty—some subtle sympathy links poor men together—for scarcely had Gerald told that he was destitute and penniless as themselves, than these poor outcasts bade him a frank welcome among them, and invited him to a share of their little scanty supper.
‘I ‘ll warrant me that you have drawn a low number in the conscription, boy; and that’s the reason you have fled from home,’ said the old woman; and Gerald laughed good-humouredly, as though accepting the suggestion as a happy guess; nor was he sorry to be spared the necessity of recounting his story.
‘But why not be a soldier?’ broke in Marietta.
‘Because it’s a dog’s life,’ retorted the hag savagely.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Gerald. ‘When I saw the noble guard of his Holiness prancing into the Piazza del Popolo, I longed to be one of them. They were all glittering with gold and polished steel, and their horses bounded and caracoled as if impatient for a charge.’
‘Ah!’ sighed the old man drearily, ‘there’s only one happy road in this life.’
‘And what may that be, Babbo?’ said Gerald, addressing him by the familiar title the girl had given him.