BY THE LIGHT OF A TORCH.
They came out of their lodging, an hour later, into the deserted square. Lights were flaring in nearly every window, and in every house was to be heard the rattling of bottles and plates, and men's voices calling for more wine. But it was quiet enough out here, under the stars, in the empty piazza, where the last booths were being closed for the night.
They strolled over to the lower part of the square, and sat down upon the parapet; Drea was lighting his pipe.
'Look here, lad,' he began abruptly. The match in his hand went out, he felt for another in all his pockets, swearing the while at the mischance.
'May the devil fly away with all fine clothes, say I. For why should a man change his coat any more than his skin? I've worn this jacket every festa for the last twelve years, and I never yet could learn the trick o' its inside.'
'I've got lights,' said Dino.
'Nay, lad, where there's a way out there's a way in. I'll not be beat by it, thanking you kindly.'
He puffed at his pipe thoughtfully before he spoke again.
'It's a good many years now since the first time I came up here. Lord, how the years go! I mind me—— Your mother was a young woman then, Dino; no older than my little girl there, and I was a wild young fellow. Well, well; it seems more than one lifetime ago. I'm getting to be an old man now, my Dino. It gave me a start the other night to hear our young master speak of it, but it's true enough for all that.'
'Perhaps it is. But you never seem old to me, Sor Drea.'