"Suspects that you and Giovanna--you understand? She has not said a word, the old maniac, but Giovanna has guessed that she has some idea in her head, and on that account----" "I understand," said Costantino. He did understand. Evidently Giovanna had taken this method of warning him that they would have to be prudent. "And so, my soul," Aunt Bachissia went on, "for the present it will be as well for you to stop coming here--just so as not to arouse suspicions. I will go every once in a while to see you--for a chat, you know. Ah!" she gave a weary sigh, "you--yes, you are a man! Look at you, standing there now, as tall and handsome as a banner! When I think of that little freak of nature--Brontu Dejas--I declare, I wonder what on earth Giovanna could have been thinking of to--forget you. Ah, if she had only listened to me!" Costantino, who had risen and was standing in the doorway, crimsoned with anger when he heard these outrageous lies being calmly offered for his acceptance. "Hold your tongue," he began in a hoarse voice. But Aunt Bachissia was not listening; she was looking intently up at the white house; presently she whispered: "Look, my soul, we are being watched now. Giovanna is right. Do you see the old harpy peering at us? Oh! I could tear out her eyes!" Sure enough the figure of Aunt Martina could be seen lurking in the shadow of the portico. For the moment Costantino, who had never really borne any especial ill-will towards Brontu's mother, felt all the anger, and sorrow, and rebelliousness in his nature concentrate into one bitter longing to do the old woman some bodily harm. He would dearly have liked to make a wild dash across the common, fall upon her without warning, and tear her eyes out, as Aunt Bachissia had said. "Never mind, let her alone," said the latter. "Giovanna has told me that she is doing everything she can to make them ill-use her and drive her out of the house. Then we will apply for another divorce--you, my soul, all you have to do is to be careful and--wait." "What have I to wait for?" he asked roughly. "Nothing can happen now that _I_ want." She said something more, but he was not listening. Standing erect and motionless on the threshold of the door that had once been _his_ door, he stared across at the portico of the Dejas house, feeling even more desolate and forlorn than usual. So, then, his one remaining consolation, that of holding intercourse with Giovanna, was about to be torn from him, and by the same people who had stolen from him everything else that made life pleasant; moreover they might deprive him even of life itself should he continue his relations with her who really was his own wife!