She spoke thereafter without looking at me, in that cold, emotionless voice that was peculiar to her always, the voice of one in whom the founts of all that is sweet and tolerant and tender in life are for ever frozen.
"What are you doing with weapons, Agostino ?" she asked me.
"As you see, madam mother, I am at practice," I answered, and out of the corner of my eye I caught the grim approving twitch of old Falcone's lips.
"At practice ?" she echoed, dully as one who does not understand.

Then very slowly she shook her sorrowful head.

"Men practise what they must one day perform, Agostino.

To your books, then, and leave swords for bloody men, nor ever let me see you again with weapons in your hands if you respect me." "Had you not come hither, madam mother, you had been spared the sight to-day," I answered with some lingering spark of my rebellious fire still smouldering.
"It was God's will that I should come to set a term to such vanities before they take too strong a hold upon you," answered she.

"Lay down those weapons." Had she been angry, I think I could have withstood her.