But Derossi said “no”, again, and shook his head.
Then she timidly lifted from her basket a bunch of radishes, and said: “Accept these at least,—they are fresh,—and carry them to your mamma.”
Derossi smiled, and said:—“No, thanks: I don't want anything; I shall always do all that I can for Crossi, but I cannot accept anything. I thank you all the same.”
“But you are not at all offended?” asked the woman, anxiously.
Derossi said “No, no!” smiled, and went off, while she exclaimed in great delight:—
“Oh, what a good boy! I have never seen so fine and handsome a boy as he!”
And that appeared to be the end of it. But in the afternoon, at four o'clock, instead of Crossi's mother, his father came up, with that gaunt, sad face of his. He stopped Derossi, and from the way in which he looked at the latter I instantly understood that he suspected Derossi of knowing his secret. He looked at him intently, and said in his tender, touching voice:—
“You are fond of my son. Why do you like him so much?”
Derossi's face turned the color of fire. He would have liked to say: “I am fond of him because he has been unfortunate; because you, his father, have been more unfortunate than guilty, and have nobly expiated your crime, and are a man of heart.”
But he had not the courage to say it, for at bottom he still felt fear and almost dread in the presence of this man who had shed another's blood, and had been
