patience with which afflictions so bitter were borne, before I went away
I gave the husbandman all the silver money I had left, some few liras,
and reserved for my future needs one single ducat, the last gold piece I
had. The man thanked me exorbitantly in a voice broken with gratitude,
yet almost in the same breath admitted the insufficiency of the gift.

"We shall send Virginia into Pistoja to-morrow," he said. "It has come
to this, that her brothers and sisters are dying, and she must do what
she can."

I asked, "Will you send her to beg?"

The question was evaded. "She'll do well enough when she's been fed and
cleaned, for she's a well-made, handsome girl. There is a great man
there--we shall keep the wolf from the door by what she sends us-and
maybe have something over. Misery teaches all trades to a man, you see."

I trembled and turned pale. "I entreat you," I said, "to do no such
dreadful thing. I have serious reasons for asking--very serious. There
is one thing which we cannot afford to lose, even if we lose life itself
in keeping it. And it is a thing for which we pay so dear now and again
that we cannot value it too highly. I mean our self-respect."

The peasant looked round upon his hovel and sleeping brood with those
famine-bright eyes of his. "Must I keep my self-respect sooner than some
of them? Must I not throw one to the wolves sooner than a half-dozen?"
He gave over his unhappy survey with a shrug. "It seems I have nothing
to get rid of here," he said quietly, "except that valuable thing."

I pulled out my gold piece. "Will that keep it safe for you?" I asked.