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When he returned to the kitchen, and was employed in taking the

polpette from the fire, one of the bravoes approached, and said,

in an under tone, "Who are those men?"

"Good people of this village," replied the host, pouring the

mince-meat into a dish.

"Well; but what are their names? Who are they?" insisted he, in a

rough voice.

"One is called Renzo," replied the host; "esteemed a good youth,

and an excellent weaver of silk. The other is a peasant, whose

name is Tony; a jovial fellow,-it is a pity he has no more money,

for he would spend it all here. The other is a simpleton, who

eats when they feed him. By your leave--" So saying, he slipped

past him, with the dish in his hand, and carried it to the place

of its destination.

"How do you know?" said Renzo, continuing the conversation from

the point at which it had been dropped, "how do you know that

they are honest men, when you are not acquainted with them?"