"You alarm me, and you make me feel very sorry for you as well," said Uncle Isidoro gravely. "But see here, whose fault is it all? I remember--this visit of yours brings it all back to me--another visit I once had; it was from Giacobbe Dejas, poor soul. Well, he sat there, just where you are sitting now, and he said almost the same words: 'We must find some way to stop this thing; if we don't, some terrible misfortune will surely happen!' And so we did; we tried our best to stop that shameful thing, but without avail. You and your son, and all the rest of you, were determined to bring about your own ruin. You fell into mortal sin; you broke the laws of God, and now your punishment has come!" "We! only we!" exclaimed the old woman haughtily. "No; the fault belongs to them as well. To Bachissia Era, for her avarice and wickedness in throwing her daughter at Brontu; and to Giovanna, for abandoning her first husband when she loved him, and marrying another out of self-interest! The blame belongs equally to all, or, rather, it does not; it is _theirs_ alone, for we did nothing but what was good. It is theirs, theirs, and I hate every one of them--vile, low-born beggars--traitors. And I can tell you, if Costantino does not give this thing up, he'll bitterly regret it. Beg, implore, adjure him! Tell him not to bring ruin on a respectable house, and then,--if he will not listen----" "Hush, Martina," begged the fisherman, seeing that she was working herself into a fury. "Don't talk foolishness. But tell me, are you really certain that Giovanna and Costantino are meeting each other?"