So he wished the hunters a "buon giorno." They returned his salutation,
giving the old gentleman a sociable slap on the back that made his
heart leap into his throat.
They fell into conversation, and walked for some time together among
The heights, the doctor wishing them all the while at the bottom of the
crater of Vesuvius. At length they came to a small osteria on the
mountain, where they proposed to enter and have a cup of wine together.
The doctor consented; though he would as soon have been invited to
drink hemlock.
One of the gang remained sentinel at the door; the others swaggered
into the house; stood their fusils in a corner of the room; and each
drawing a pistol or stiletto out of his belt, laid it, with some
emphasis, on the table. They now called lustily for wine; drew benches
round the table, and hailing the doctor as though he had been a boon
companion of long standing, insisted upon his sitting down and making
merry. He complied with forced grimace, but with fear and trembling;
sitting on the edge of his bench; supping down heartburn with every
drop of liquor; eyeing ruefully the black muzzled pistols, and cold,
naked stilettos. They pushed the bottle bravely, and plied him
vigorously; sang, laughed, told excellent stories of robberies and
combats, and the little doctor was fain to laugh at these cut-throat
pleasantries, though his heart was dying away at the very bottom of his
bosom.
Pages:
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268