"She was a _marchesa_. Her father was an intimate friend of the King of Spain, and had given her 1000 gold crowns for her dowry. How much are 1000 crowns? "What are 1000 crowns?" said Agata contemptuously. "Margherita Carboni has 4000." "4000?" echoed Rebecca, "you mean 40,000." "You don't know what you're talking about," cried Aunt Sorchedda, "these were gold crowns. Not even Don Franceschino has so much." "Go along with you! You're doting," cried Agata, getting heated. "How much do 1000 crowns come to? Franziscu Carchide has them in shoe soles!" It was getting serious. The women began to abuse each other. "It's easy to see why she brings in Franziscu Carchide, that scum of a girl!" "Scum yourself, old sinner!" "Ah." "_Foglia di gelso Leaf of the mulberry tree! Chi la fa la pensa._ The thing you do, you everywhere see!" Anania was listening. In spite of his private anxiety he laughed. "Oh, ho!" cried Agata, peeping over the wall, "good evening to your Excellence! What are you hiding for? Come out and let us see your pretty face." He pinched Agata's arm, and Rebecca who had hidden herself on hearing the young man's laugh, contributed a pinch on the leg. "Oh! oh! oh!" cried Agata, "go to the devil with you! This is too much. Let me alone or I'll tell----" The pinches were redoubled. "Oh! oh! oh! The devil! Rebecca, there's no good in being jealous! Oh! oh! Aunt Tatàna has gone this evening, has gone to ask----Well, shall I tell or not?" Anania withdrew, asking himself how that minx Agata knew. "My sweetheart, next time have some respect for Aunt Agata!" she said laughing; while Rebecca who had understood became stonily silent, and Aunt Sorchedda enquired-- "Kindly tell me, Nania Atonzu, is there a single person in Nuoro who has 1000 gold crowns?" The foul-mouthed _contadino_ came over and asked, "Young man from Rome, Nania Atonzu--is it true that the pope----" Anania was not listening. He saw a figure moving slowly at the bottom of the street. His heart came into his mouth. It was she! The old messenger dove, it was she, carrying on her pure lips, like a flower of life or of death, the fateful word. Anania went in to the house shutting the back door; Aunt Tatàna entered at the front and he shut that door also. She sighed; was still pale and oppressed just as Anania had seen her in fancy. Her rude jewels, her belt, her embroideries, sparkled brightly in the firelight. Anania ran to meet her. He looked at her anxiously. As she kept silence he burst out impatiently-- "Well? Well? What did he say?" "Have patience, child of the Lord! I am going to tell you." "Tell me now--this moment. Will he have me?" "Yes--s--s--He'll have you! He'll have you!" announced the old lady opening her arms. Quite overcome, Anania sat down, his head in his hands. Aunt Tatàna looked at him compassionately, shaking her head, while with trembling finger she unclasped her silver belt.