Giacobbe drank off a couple of glasses of wine, and then laughed in rather a forced way, looking sideways at his sister and the fisherman. "See here," he said suddenly; "why don't you two get married? Isidoro Pane, my sister is rich, and you see how fresh she is, just like the hip of a wild rose. You'd think she had found some magic herb and made an ointment to preserve her skin."
"God bless you! How queer you are sometimes!" exclaimed the little woman.
"Yes; you two had better marry; I wish it. My sister is rich; all my property will go to her, because I am going to die first. Somehow, I don't quite know why, but I feel as though I were going to die soon; I feel as though I were going to be killed——"
"Oh, nonsense! If it happens to-day, it will come from drinking too much."
"Dear little brother, what on earth are you talking about? In the name of the wretched souls in purgatory, don't say such things," said his sister, greatly distressed.
"You have no enemies," said Isidoro. "And besides, only those perish by the sword who have used the sword."
"Well, I have slaughtered many and many an innocent, unoffending fellow-creature," replied Giacobbe seriously, burying his mouth in a slice of watermelon. "You don't believe me? Sheep and lambs without number!" and he lifted his face, streaming with the pink juice, and laughed.
Dinner over, the two men went off to look at the new house.
Its two stories—the ground-floor and one above it—were divided into four large bedrooms, a kitchen, and a stable; these accommodations being deemed sufficient to earn for it the title of "palace," not alone from Giacobbe, but from the entire neighbourhood as well.