"Well, if he comes in before, tell him that Vitalis will be back in two hours."
"Very well, Signor."
I was about to follow Vitalis, when he stopped me.
"Stay here," he said; "you can rest.
"Oh, I'll come back," he added, reassuringly, noticing my look of anxiety.
"Are you Italian?" asked the boy, when Vitalis' heavy step could no longer be heard on the stairs.
"No," I replied in French, "I'm French."
"That's a good thing."
"What! you like the French better than the Italians?"
"Oh, no, I was thinking of you when I said 'that's a good thing,' because if you were Italian you would probably come here to work for Signor Garofoli, and I'd be sorry for you."
"Is he wicked, then?"
The boy did not reply, but the look he gave me spoke more than words. As though he did not wish to continue the conversation, he went over to the fireplace. On a shelf in the fireplace was an immense earthenware saucepan. I drew nearer to the fire to warm myself, and I noticed that the pot had something peculiar about it. The lid, through which a straight tube projected to allow the steam to escape, was fixed on the saucepan on one side with a hinge and on the other with a padlock.
"Why is that closed with a padlock?" I asked, inquisitively.
