His heart dancing with admiration and joy, Anania remained absorbed in contemplation of the magnificent spectacle, until the vision had fled and the shades of evening had drawn a violet pall over all things. Then he returned to the widow's house and drew a stool beside the hearth. Memory again assailed him. In the penumbra, while the old woman was preparing supper and talking in her dreary tones, he again saw Zuanne of the big ears busy with his chestnuts; and another figure behind silent and vague as a phantom. "So they've killed all the Nuoro brigands?" said the widow, "but do you believe it will be long before new ones appear? You are deceived, my son. So long as there are men with hot burning blood in their veins, men clever for good or for evil, so long will there be brigands. It's true that just now they're no good--all towards, mere despicable thieves; but in my husband's time it was not like that! How brave they were then! so kind and so courageous. My husband once met a woman who was crying because----" Anania was only moderately interested in Aunt Grathia's recollections. Other thoughts were passing through his brain. "Look here," he said, when the widow had concluded the tale of the weeping woman, "have you never had any news of my mother?" Aunt Grathia who was dexterously turning an omelet, made no reply. Anania waited. He thought, "She knows something!" and in spite of himself became agitated. After a short silence the widow said-- "If you know nothing of her, why should I? Now, my son, come over to this chair and eat with a good heart." Anania sat in front of the basket which the widow had placed on a chair and began to eat. "I knew nothing of her for a long time," he said, confiding in the old woman as he had never been able to confide in any one before; "but now I believe I have traced her. After leaving me, she went away from Sardinia. A man I know saw her in Rome--dressed in town fashion." "Did he really see her?" asked Aunt Grathia quickly. "Did he speak to her?" "More than that," replied the young man bitterly. "After that nothing more was heard of her. But this year, in Rome, I made enquiries at the _Questura_, and learned that she's living there, in Rome, under another name; but she's reformed, yes, quite reformed. She's working and living honestly." Aunt Grathia had come nearer to her guest, her hollow eyes widened, she stooped and stretched out her hands as if to gather up the young man's words. He had grown calm thinking of Maria Obinu; when he said, "she has reformed" he felt happy, sure at that moment he was not deceiving himself in thinking Maria was _she_. "Are you certain, really certain?" asked the old woman bewildered. "Yes. Yes--s--s!" he cried, imitating his sweetheart in the joyous almost singing pronounciation of the word. "Why I've been living in her house for two whole months!"