must defy Baldassarre as a mad, imbecile old man; and the chances were so strongly on his side that there was hardly room for fear. No; except the fear of having to do many unpleasant things in order to save himself from what was yet more unpleasant. And one of those unpleasant things must be done immediately: it was very difficult.
“Do you mean to stay here?” he said.
“No,” said Baldassarre, bitterly, “you mean to turn me out.”
“Not so,” said Tito; “I only ask.”
“I tell you, you have turned me out. If it is your straw, you turned me off it three years ago.”
“Then you mean to leave this place?” said Tito, more anxious about this certainty than the ground of it.
“I have spoken,” said Baldassarre.
Tito turned and reentered the house.
Monna Lisa was nodding; he went up to Tessa, and found her crying by the side of her baby.
“Tessa,” he said, sitting down and taking her head between his hands; “leave off crying, little goose, and listen to me.”
He lifted her chin upward, that she might look at him, while he spoke very distinctly and emphatically.
“You must never speak to that old man again. He is a mad old man, and he wants to kill me. Never speak to him or listen to him again.”
Tessa’s tears had ceased, and her lips were pale with fright.