Aunt Bachissia nodded affirmatively; she knew only too well what happens when there is nothing in a house to eat.
“Is that true or not, Dr. Porreddu?”
“True, perfectly true,” said he, laughing, and eating, and waving his large, white hands with their long nails, in the air.
“It is that that makes him such a leech, a regular vampire,” said Uncle Efes Maria, turning to his guests. “I’ll not have a drop of blood left in my veins. Body of the devil! how the money must go in Rome!”
“Ah, if you only knew!” sighed Paolo. “Everything, every single thing is so frightfully dear. Twenty centimes for a single peach! There, I feel better now.”
“Twenty centimes!” exclaimed all the company in chorus.
“Well, Aunt Bachissia, and then? After Costantino came back?” asked Paolo.
“Well, Paolo Porru—you see I go on addressing you familiarly, even though you will be a doctor soon; when you were a little chap I used to go so far as to give you a cuff now and then—”
“I have no recollection of it, but go on with your story,” said the young man, while Grazia’s nostrils fairly dilated with anger.
“Well, as I said, Costantino disappeared for three years, and—”
“He was working in the mines, all right; then he came back and was reconciled to his uncle. What then?”
“He met my Giovanna here, and they fell in love with each other; but the uncle made objections because my girl was poor. Then they began to hate one another worse than ever. Costantino was working for the Vulture, and he would never let him have a centime. So, then, one day Costantino came to me and said: ‘I’m a poor man; I haven’t got any money to buy trinkets for the bride, or to provide a feast and all the rest for a Christian wedding; and you are poor, too. Now then, suppose we do this way: we will have the civil ceremony, and all live and work together; then, when we have saved enough, we will be married by God. A great many do it that way, why shouldn’t we?’ So we did; we had the civil ceremony very quietly, and afterwards we all lived together and were happy enough. But the Vulture was furious; he used to come and yell things at us even in our own street, and he tried to interfere with Costantino in every way he could. But we just kept on working. So at last, when the vintage was over last autumn, we began preparing the sweets and things for the wedding, and then Basile Ledda was found dead one day, murdered in his own house! The evening before, Costantino had been seen going in there; what he went for was to tell his uncle about the wedding, and to try to make his peace with him. Ah, poor boy! he would not run off and hide somewhere as I begged and implored him to do, so of course they arrested him.”
“He would not go because he was innocent, mamma, my—”
“There you go, you simpleton, beginning to cry again! If you don’t stop, I’ll not say another word, so there! Well, then, Costantino was arrested, and now the trial is just over, and the public prosecutor has asked to have him sent to the galleys; but he’s a dog, that public prosecutor! They have evidence, to be sure; Costantino was seen on the night of the murder entering his uncle’s house, where he lived all by himself, like the wild beast that he was; and then their relations in the past—all true enough, but there are no proofs. Costantino was very contradictory, and full of remorse about something; he kept repeating: ‘It is the mortal sin’; for you must know that he is a good Christian, and he thinks that this misfortune has been sent as a punishment because he and Giovanna lived together before they were married by religious ceremony.”
“But tell me one thing—”
“Just wait a moment. I should add that now they have been married by religious ceremony—in prison! Yes, my dear, in prison; fancy what a horrid thing that was! Now don’t begin crying again, Giovanna; if you do, I’ll throw this salt-cellar at your head. There she is, the goose! Everyone told her not to do it. ‘Don’t be married now,’ they said. ‘If he’s found guilty and sentenced, you can marry some one else!’ ”
“How contemptible!” began the young woman, with flashing eyes, but the mother merely turned a cold, penetrating look upon her, and she broke off at once.
“Did I say so?” demanded the other. “No, it was other people, and they said it for your own good.”
“For my good, for my good,” moaned Giovanna, burying her face in her hands; “there is no more good for me, ever again, ever again!”
“Have you children?” asked Paolo.
“Yes, one, a boy. If it were not for him—alas, alas! if Costantino is sentenced, and there were no child—then, oh, misery, misery—!” And she seized her hair by the roots, and began to drag her head violently from side to side, like an insane person.
“You mean that you would kill yourself, my beloved?” asked Aunt Bachissia ironically.
To the student there was something artificial in the action; it reminded him of a famous actress whom he had once seen in a French comedy, and this open display of grief only aroused his cynicism.
“After all,” said he, “the new divorce law has been approved, and any woman whose husband is serving a sentence can regain her freedom.”
Giovanna did not appear
