"You know them, of course, reverendo?"
"I have not that honor," replied Don Agostino. "My professional duties do not bring me into communication with them, except occasionally upon paper. But," he continued, "will you not come to my house? You can see it yonder—near the church, behind those chestnut-trees. It is getting late for your shooting, and I dare say you have walked enough. I have to say mass at six o'clock, but this morning I shall be late, for it is that now. Afterwards we will have some coffee and some eggs. We have both been occupied for the last few hours, though in different ways; and I, for one, need food."
Silvio accepted the invitation with alacrity, and they proceeded to mount the long hill together.
"I thought," he observed, presently, "that you would certainly be acquainted with Princess Montefiano."
"Are you acquainted with her?" asked Don Agostino, somewhat abruptly.
"No," replied Silvio, "except by sight. My father lives in Palazzo Acorari in Rome—we have the second floor."
Don Agostino said nothing, and they walked on for some minutes in silence. The heat of the sun was by this time becoming considerable, and both of them felt that they would not be sorry to arrive at their journey's end. Twenty minutes more brought them to the little piazza in front of the church, and here Don Agostino paused.
"I must say the mass at once," he said; "the people will have been waiting half an hour or more. There," he added, "is the house. You can go through the garden and wait for me if you do not care to assist at the mass."
Silvio, however, declared that he wished to be present, and Don Agostino led the way into the church. Half a dozen peasant women and one or two old men formed the congregation, and Silvio sat down on a bench near the altar, while Don Agostino disappeared into the sacristy to vest himself.
The mass did not take long, and at its conclusion Don Agostino beckoned to his guest to follow him into the sacristy, whence a passage communicated with the house. By this time Don Agostino was fairly exhausted. He had eaten nothing since the evening before, and his long walk and sad vigil through the night had left him weary both in body and mind. His mass over, however, he was at liberty to eat and drink; and the caffè e latte, fresh-laid eggs, and the rolls and butter his housekeeper had prepared were most acceptable. Even Silvio, who had already breakfasted on figs and bread, needed no pressing to breakfast a second time.