Silence. Within the room the only sounds were the rattle of the spindle and the noise of Brontu's strong teeth, as he munched the hunks of hard bread; outside, though, beyond the portico, the crickets were chirping incessantly; and from the far-away, deserted woods, through the warm, dim atmosphere of the falling night, came the melancholy cry of an owl. Brontu poured out some wine, raised the glass, and opened his mouth, but not to drink. There was something he wanted to say to his mother, but the words would not come. He drank the wine, brushed some drops off his beard with the back of his hand, and again opened his mouth, but still the words died away. A sound of heavy boots was heard, tramping across the open space before the house. Aunt Martina, still spinning, arose, told her son that Giacobbe Dejas was coming, and, taking the food and wine, put them away in the cupboard. Giacobbe saw the action as he entered, and at once understood that she was hiding something in order not to have to offer it to him; but, as he himself would have put it, he was too much a "man of the world" to allow any expression of resentment to escape him. He advanced, therefore, smiling and cheerful. "I will wager," said he, laying one finger on his nose, "that you were talking about me." "No, we were speaking of poor Costantino Ledda." "Ah, yes, poor fellow!" returned Giacobbe, becoming serious at once. "And when you think that he is innocent! As innocent as the sun! No one can be more sure of it than I." Brontu threw himself back in an easy attitude, crossed his legs, and, turning slightly around, showed his teeth as he did when talking to women. "As to that, opinions may differ," he said sharply. "There, for instance, is my mother; she dreamed that he had got the death sentence." "Oh, no, Brontu! What are you talking about? Penal servitude!" "Well, it amounts to the same thing. Now, we will talk business." "Very well, let us talk business, by all means," assented Giacobbe, crossing his legs as well. A little later the two men, having settled the matter in hand, went off together, Brontu leading the way to the tavern. He himself was not in the least close, and if he never offered a visitor a glass in his own house, it was only not to irritate Aunt Martina. At the tavern, though, he was superb, and on this particular evening he made Giacobbe drink so much, and drank so much himself, that they both became tipsy. Coming out at last into the silent, deserted street, filled with the odour of the dry fields, they began talking again of Costantino, and Brontu said, with brutal frankness, that he was glad of the sentence. "Go to the devil!" shouted Giacobbe. "You have no heart!" "All right, that's it; I have no heart." "Just because Giovanna wouldn't have you, you are glad to hear of the death, or worse than death, of a brother."