He swore, and then gave a light, purposeless laugh, such as people give when they are alone. All the while he kept swallowing great gulps of wine, and each time that he emptied his glass he would thrust out his lips and exclaim: "Ah--ah--ah!" rubbing his chest up and down to express the delicious sensation caused by the wine as it flowed down his throat. Soon he began to feel more cheerful. "She may go to the devil--or to hell, if she wants to!" he exclaimed, thinking of Mattea and her sudden disappearance. But all the while he knew perfectly well that he was forcing himself to dwell despitefully upon her, in order to keep from thinking of the other. At last he went out, and, stretching himself upon the stone bench, allowed his thoughts to take their own course. "She is alone," he reflected. "Well, what do I care? I loathe her and I wouldn't go there, not if she were to give me a chest full of gold! What should I do with gold, anyway?" He put the question to himself in profound dejection, but immediately began to hum a gay little song, having got into a way of trying to fool himself as well as other people: "'Little heart, dear heart, I await thee day by day, But, when thou seest me, Hovereth near the bird of prey.'" For a time the sound of his own voice--low, monotonous,--arrested his attention; then his thoughts once more asserted themselves. "If I were to go there--well, what would happen? Sin, perhaps. But am I not her husband? I have not the remotest idea of going there, though; I should think not! Uncle Isidoro makes me laugh--old idiot! 'Go away, go away,' [imitating Uncle Isidoro's voice], 'if you don't go away, something dreadful is sure to happen! Brontu Dejas will kill you, or have you arrested!' Well, if he does, what then?" He began to sing again, the sharp rustle of the fig-leaves, almost like the clash of metal blades, accompanying the subdued murmur of his voice: "'When you see life Bloom in January, When you see a swineherd Making cheese of pork----'" He shifted his position and his heavy eyelids closed, his head, supported on one hand, rolling from side to side. "Well, what then?" he repeated, then opened his eyes, as though startled by the sound of his own voice. They closed again presently, and he went on talking to himself: "No; I would never have her again for my wife. For me she is just an abandoned woman. She has been living with another man, and, as long as she has gone to live with him, she might come back and live with me, and then go and live with some one else! She's no better than Mattea, and I spit upon them both!"