The old hostess handed the dish to her old guest, with an indescribable look of compassion. Her anger, and disdain, and indignation had suddenly melted away as she realised the sordid natures of the mother and daughter. "Good San Francisco, forgive them," she prayed inwardly. "Because they are so ignorant, and blind, and hard!" Then she said mildly: "You and I, Bachissia Era, are old women, and you, Giovanna, will be old some day. Now tell me one thing: what is it that comes after old age?" "Why, death." "Death; yes, death comes after. And after death what is there?" "Eternity?" said Paolo, laughing softly to himself as he devoured his grapes like a greedy child, holding the bunch close to his mouth, and detaching the seeds with his sharp little teeth. "Eternity, precisely; eternity comes after--where are you going, Minnia? Stay where you are." But the child, tired of the conversation, slipped out of the room. "What do _you_ say, Giovanna Era, does eternity follow? yes, or no? Bachissia Era--yes, or no?" "Yes," said the guests. "Yes? and yet you never think of it?" "Oh! what is the use of thinking of it?" said Paolo, getting up, and wiping his mouth with his napkin; he felt that it was high time for him to be off; he had already wasted too much time on these women, who, after all, were interesting solely from the fact that they had not yet paid him. "There are some people waiting to see me at the office--several people, in fact," he said. "I will see you again; you are not leaving yet awhile?" "To-morrow morning at daybreak." "Not really? Oh! you had better stay longer," he said indifferently, as he struggled into his huge overcoat. When it was on, Aunt Bachissia--watching him out of her sharp green eyes--thought that the little Doctor looked like a _magia_, that is, one of those grotesque and frightening figures whom wizards evoke by their arts. He departed, and immediately afterwards Miss Grazia, who had hardly spoken throughout the entire meal, arose and left the room as well. Uncle Efes Maria settled himself back in his chair, and began to read the _New Sardinia_. Bursts of laughter came from the two girls in the kitchen, and the women sat, each eating a pear, in perfect silence. A weight hung over them; upon Aunt Porredda as well as upon the others, for she was realising in her simple untutored mind that the disease that had attacked the souls of her ignorant guests was one and the same as that from which her sophisticated son and granddaughter were suffering. CHAPTER X The next morning, just as on that day so long before, Giovanna was the first to stir, while Aunt Bachissia, who like most elderly people usually lay awake until late into the night, still slept, though lightly and with laboured breath.