of his astuteness, and took obscene pride in his guile. "Is Palamone an
old fool then? Eh, mercy and truth, was there ever such a wise old fox
born into this world? Did I not, when I saw you at Rovigo, lay this
finger to this nose, and say, 'La, la, Palamone, fratello, here is a
pigeon for your plucking hand'? Did I not know you for an Englishman,
for a nobleman born? For what do you take me? I knew that you had run
away out of a scrape, I knew that the money-bags would be emptied to
find you. Wise old Palamone! Deep-browed old night-bird! Darkly
thinking, quickly acting old Fox-Palamone! And now, take heed to this, I
have never lost you, but have been hard on your heels though Jesuits and
Ministers and woman after woman have beset you on all sides. And what
have I gained by all this? A wound in the breast, my conscience! A slug
through the lung, on the word of a Christian--and my Francis, the child
of my sorrow, fed upon my tears, talks to me of profit--O Dio! O Dio!"
He wrung his hands and howled; then, grinning like a wolf, he came
creeping to me, his fingers gripping the air like claws. "Give me more
money, Francis, you who have so much--give me the guineas of England,
fifty, a hundred, a thousand--what are they to you? To me they are meat
and drink, Paradise and the Mercy Seat." He was now hovering close to
me, terribly possessed by greed. "If you do not give me money, Francis,
I shall kill you with these hands." So he threatened me, raving.

My anger got the better of my judgment. "You black-souled thief," I
said, "you shall have just what you deserve."

He still grinned and glared. I think he still hoped for more money. I
had my malacca cane in my hand, caught him with the other by the neck-
gear and beat him till the stick was in splinters. It was like thrashing
a sack of flour, for he lay like that under his punishment, and the dust
that flew out of him filled the room. When I had done I threw him from