"Rossano?" he said. "A relative, perhaps, of the Senator Rossano?"
"My father," replied Silvio. "Your reverence knows him?"
"Altrocchè!" exclaimed Don Agostino, holding out his hand. "Your father is an old friend—one of my oldest friends in days gone by. But I have not seen anything of him for years. Che vuole! When one lives at Montefiano one does not see illustrious professors. One sees peasants—and pigs. Not but what there are things to be learned from both of them. And so you are the son of Professor Rossano? But you have not come to Montefiano for sport—no? There is not much game about here, as no doubt you have already discovered."
He glanced at Silvio's game-bag as he spoke. Three or four beccafichi and a turtle-dove seemed to be its entire contents.
Silvio looked embarrassed, though he had felt that the priest's question must come. His embarrassment did not escape Don Agostino, who jumped at the somewhat hasty conclusion that either this young man must be hiding from creditors, or else that he must be wandering in unfrequented places with a mistress. In this latter case, however, Don Agostino thought it improbable that he would be out so early in the morning. It was, no doubt, a question of creditors. Young men went away from Montefiano when they could scrape up enough money to emigrate, but he had never known one to come there.
Silvio's answer tended to confirm his suspicions concerning the creditors.
"I did not come to Montefiano for the sport, certainly," he said; "and, indeed, I am not living in Montefiano itself. I am staying at Civitacastellana for the moment."
"Civitacastellana!" exclaimed Don Agostino. "Pardon my curiosity, my dear Signor Rossano, but how in the world do you occupy yourself at Civitacastellana—unless, indeed, you are an artist? It is a beautiful spot, certainly, with its neighboring ravines and its woods, but—well, after Rome you must find it quiet, decidedly quiet. And the inn—I know that inn. One feels older when one has passed a night there."
"I cannot call myself an artist," said Silvio, laughing, "though I certainly draw a great deal. I am an engineer by profession, and Civitacastellana is—well, as you say, a very quiet place. Sometimes one likes a quiet place, after Rome."
"Ah, yes, that is true," returned Don Agostino, thoughtfully. "I, too, have come to a quiet place after Rome, but then I have been in it more than ten years. I think the change loses its effect when one tries it for so long a time."