Just as on that other, far-away evening, Aunt Porredda came in, bearing triumphantly the steaming dish of macaroni, and all the members of the party seated themselves around the table. Aunt Bachissia, finding herself in the shadow, so to speak, of Grazia's wings, forthwith broke anew into loud exclamations of wonder and admiration, this time _a propos_ of those glorious objects: "No, we have never seen anything like that in our neighbourhood, but then, we have no ladies there. Here they all look like angels, the ladies." "Or bats," said Uncle Efes Maria. "Eh, it's the fashion, my dears. Why, I remember when I was a child the ladies were all big and round; they looked like cupolas. There hardly were any ladies in those days,--the Superintendent's wife, the family----" "And then that thing behind," interrupted Aunt Porredda. "Oh! I remember that, it looked like a saddle. Well, if you'll believe me, upon my word and honour, I remember one time some one sat down on one of them." "The last time we were here," said Aunt Bachissia, "those wings were little things; now they are growing, growing." Grazia sat eating her supper as though she did not hear a word of what the others were saying. The "Doctor" eat his too--like a gristmill--staring at his niece all the while with the look of a pleased child. "Growing, growing," said he. "The next thing we know they'll all take flight." Grazia shrugged her shoulders, or rather her wings, and neither spoke nor looked up. She frequently found her uncle,--that hero of her first, young dream,--very trying, and worse than trying--foolish! It was the common talk of the town that the uncle and niece were going to marry, and he, when interrogated on the subject, would answer neither yes nor no. The conversation continued for some time on impersonal topics. Every now and then Aunt Porredda would get up and pass in and out of the room, and occasionally the talk would die away, and long pauses ensue that were almost embarrassing. Like that _other time_ every one instinctively avoided the subject uppermost in the minds of the guests; who, on the whole, were just as well pleased to have it so. But, just as before, it was Aunt Bachissia, this time without intending to, who introduced the unwelcome topic. She asked if the report that the "Doctor" was to marry his niece were true or no. The Porrus looked at one another, and Grazia, bending her head still lower over her plate, laughed softly to herself. Paolo glanced at the girl, and, with an irony that seemed a little forced, replied: "Eh, no! She is going to marry the Very Right Honourable Sub-Prefect!" Grazia raised her head with a sudden movement and opened her lips, then as quickly lowered it, the blood meanwhile rushing up to her forehead. "Oh! he's old," said Minnia. "I know him; he's always walking about the station. Ugh! he has a long, red beard, and a high hat." "A high hat too?" "Yes, a high hat--a widower." "The high hat is a widower?"