The cacciatore laughed. "Your reverence would have been even safer as a crow," he replied; "but indeed there was no danger. I was firing well above the path at a turtledove, which I missed badly. But it is better to miss than to wound."
Don Agostino looked at the speaker, and there was approval in his glance, either of the sentiment or of the appearance of the sportsman—perhaps of both.
"Sicuro," he replied, "it is better to miss than to wound. For my part, I should prefer always to miss; but then I am not a sportsman, as you see. All the same, I am glad you cacciatori do not always miss—from the point of view of the stomach, you know. The signore is from Rome, I conclude?"
The other hesitated for a moment.
"From Rome—yes," he replied,
Don Agostino glanced at him again, and thought how good-looking the young man was. A gentleman, evidently, by his manner and bearing—but a stranger, for he had certainly never seen him in Montefiano.
"I," he said, "am the parroco of Montefiano—Agostino Lelli, per servirla."
The young cacciatore started slightly, and then he hesitated again. Courtesy necessitated his giving his own name in return.
"And I, reverendo," he replied, after a slight pause, "am Silvio Rossano, of Rome."
Don Agostino looked surprised.