Then a cruel smile passed over his face.

He stooped down, picked up the crumpled notes, counted them, and replaced them in his purse.

The economical instinct never forsook him, and he did the thing mechanically.

Glancing at the bench his eyes fell on the pointed punch which Gianbattista had taken up in his anger.

He felt it carefully, handled it, looked at it, smiled again and put it into his pocket.
"It is not a bad one," he muttered.