"Well, I knew that myself. She chased me out of the house; that's the whole of it. I could hear the two--the mother and daughter--from the road, quarrelling furiously together." And then Brontu went to look for his brandy-flask. Giacobbe was so overjoyed that he could have laughed aloud for glee. "Look here!" he called. "The spirits came last night and drank your brandy. Ha! ha! ha! but there must be some left; I am sure there is still some left." Brontu drank eagerly without making any reply. Then he flung the flask angrily at the herdsman, who caught it in the air; and Brontu, having drunk for sorrow, Giacobbe proceeded to drink for joy. FOOTNOTE: [5] A summer goblin, invoked in Sardinia to frighten children out of the sun. CHAPTER VIII One morning, about three years after his conviction, Costantino awoke in a bad humour. The heat was oppressive, and the air of the cell was heavy and sickening. One of the prisoners was snoring and puffing like a kettle letting off steam. Costantino had slept with Giovanna's last letter beneath his head, and a sad little letter it was; short, and depressing in the extreme. She told of her and her mother's dire poverty, and of the boy's serious illness. It never occurred to Costantino to reflect how cruel it was to write to him in this strain; he wanted to know the truth about them, however bad it might be, and he felt that to share all Giovanna's sorrows and to agonise over his inability to help her was a part of his duty. A barren duty,--alas!--merely an increase of his misery. He had become quite deft at his trade of shoemaking, and worked rapidly, but he could make very little money; all that was left, however, after the _King of Spades_ had been paid for his supposed good offices he sent to Giovanna. "Upon my word," said the ex-marshal, "you are a goose. Spend it on yourself. They ought to be sending you money." "But they are so poor." "Poor! Not they; haven't they got the sun? What more do they want?" said the other. "If you would only eat and drink more it would be a real charity. You are nothing but a stick, my dear fellow. Look at me! I'm getting fat. My bacon may be all rind, but, all the same, I'm getting fat." He was, in fact, as round as a ball, but his flesh hung down in yellow, flabby rolls. Costantino, on the other hand, had fallen away, his eyes were big and cavernous, and his hands transparent.