ted brows. The Moro answered him from his seat on the sofa. He seemed to be the confessor and the priest the penitent.
Finally, Don Rocco crossed himself and got up.
"Now sit right here while I confess," said the Moro, as if there were nothing against it. But Don Rocco caught him up. Had they not already arranged that he should confess the next day? But the other would not listen with that ear, and continued hammering away at his request with obstinate placidity.
"Let us stop this," he said, all at once. "Pay attention, for I am beginning!"
"But I tell you that it is not possible and that I will not have it," replied Don Rocco. "Go home, I tell you! I am going to bed at once."
He started to leave; but the Moro was too quick for him, rushed to the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket.
"No, sir! you don't go out of here! Might I not die to-night? Would n't I, if the Lord just blew on me like this?"
And he blew on the petroleum lamp and put it out.
"And if I go to hell," he continued in a sepulchral voice, in the dark, "you will go there too!"
The poor priest, at this unexpected violence, in the midst of this darkness, lost his presence of mind. He no longer knew where he was, and
