"Son! dear son!" cried the widow, looking at her dismal walls; "well, what do you think of my house? Naked and sad as an abandoned nest! But sit down--will you wash your hands? here is pure fresh water, real pure silver! Wash yourself, drink, rest. I'll cook a mouthful for you. Don't refuse, son of my heart! don't humiliate me. I should like to feed you with my heart! But you'll accept what I can offer. Here's a towel, my dear. How tall and beautiful you are! I hear you're to marry a rich and lovely girl. Ah, and she's no fool, that girl! Why didn't you write before coming? Ah, dear boy! you at least haven't forgotten the deserted old woman!" "But Zuanne? Zuanne?" said Anania, washing in the fresh water from the bucket. The widow's face darkened. "Don't speak of him! He has grieved me so much. It would have been far better he'd followed his father. Well no--don't talk of it. He's not a man. He may be a saint, but he isn't a man. If my husband were to lift his head out of the tomb, and see his son barefoot, with the cord and the wallet, a stupid, begging friar, whatever would he say! Ah! he'd beat him to death, he would!" "Where is Brother Zuanne at present?" "In a convent a long way off. On the top of a mountain! If he'd even stayed in the convent at Fonni! But no! I'm fated to be abandoned by them all! Even Fidele the other boy has taken a wife and hardly ever remembers me. The nest is deserted--the old eagle has seen all her poor eaglets fly away, and will die alone--alone!" "Come and live with me!" said Anania. "Once I've got my degree, I'll make a home for you, Nonna!" "What good should I be to you? Once, I was able to wash your eyes and cut your nails--now you'd have to do it for me." "You would tell your stories to me, and to my children." "I can't even tell the stories. I've grown childish. Time has carried away my brains, as the wind carries away the snow from the mountains. Well, my boy, eat! I've nothing better to offer you. Accept with a good heart. Oh this candle, is it yours? Where are you taking it?" "To the Basilica, Nonna, to put before the images of the saints Proto and Gianuario. It's come a long way, Nonna. It was given me by an old Sardinian woman who lives in Rome. She told me stories too, but not such nice ones as yours." After the modest meal, Anania found a guide with whom he arranged for the ascent of the Gennargentu to-morrow. Then he went to the Basilica.