"Come here," I bade him, and as he appeared to hesitate I had to repeat the
order more peremptorily. At last he turned and came.
"What now, Agostino?" cried my mother, setting a pale hand upon my sleeve
But I was all intent upon that lout, who stood there before me shifting
uneasily upon his feet, his air mutinous and sullen. Over his shoulder I
had a glimpse of his father's yellow face, wide-eyed with alarm.
"I think you smiled just now," said I.
"Heh! By Bacchus!" said he impudently, as who would say: "How could I help
smiling?"
"Will you tell me why you smiled?" I asked him.
"Heh! By Bacchus!" said he again, and shrugged to give his insolence a
barb.
"Will you answer me?" I roared, and under my display of anger he looked
truculent, and thus exhausted the last remnant of my patience.
"Agostino!" came my mothers voice in remonstrance, and such is the power of
habit that for a moment it controlled me and subdued my violence.
Nevertheless I went on, "You smiled to see your spite succeed. You smiled
to see that poor child driven hence by your contriving; you smiled to see
your broken snares avenged. And you were following after her no doubt to
tell her all this and to smile again. This is all so, it is not?"
"Heh! By Bacchus!" said he for the third time, and at that my patience
gave out utterly.
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