Late in the afternoon Pasquale Solara reappeared suddenly and without the least warning. The old man was covered with dust, as if he had been journeying far on foot. He plainly showed that he was greatly fatigued, also that something had occurred to irritate him. He entered the cabin unobserved, and was there for some moments before his presence was discovered. Annunziata was the first to see him, sitting upon a rude wooden bench with his stout oaken staff in his hand on which he leaned heavily. She threw her arms about his neck with a cry of joy, endeavoring to snatch a kiss from his tightly-closed lips, but he sternly and silently repulsed her. Lorenzo, in his turn, met with no warmer reception at his father's hands. But his children were used to Pasquale's moods and were, therefore, altogether unaffected by his present morose deportment; they speedily left him to himself, giving themselves no further trouble concerning him. Once when Espérance came into the room the old man stared at him inquiringly, as if he had utterly forgotten the fact that strangers were enjoying the shelter of his roof; then he appeared to recollect and scowled so savagely that the young man beat a hasty retreat, going to seek Lorenzo, whose cheery voice was heard singing beyond the brook.
As Espérance came in sight of the little stream, he nearly stumbled over a peasant, lying at full length beneath the spreading branches of an aged willow. The stranger was reading a book, and Espérance was amazed to notice that it was "Cæsar's Commentaries." He uttered an apology for his awkwardness, but the peasant only smiled and, in a gentle voice, begged pardon for being in the way. That voice! Espérance was certain he had heard it before, but where or when he could not recall, though it thrilled him to the very marrow of his bones, filling him with vague apprehensions. The man's face, too, was familiar, as also was his attire; but there was great similarity between the Italian peasants in the vicinity of Rome in general looks and dress; it was quite likely that he had not seen this man before, but some other resembling him; still, the voice and face troubled Espérance, and he decided to question the peasant; the rarity of strangers' visits to this sequestered locality would be a sufficient pretext for his curiosity.
"My friend," said he, addressing the recumbent reader, who had resumed his book, "are you a relative or acquaintance of the Solaras?"
"I am neither," replied the man, carelessly, glancing up from his volume and allowing his penetrating eyes to rest on his questioner, "I strolled here by chance, and this cosy nook was so inviting that I took possession of it without a thought as to the intrusion I was committing."