The streets were lighted in patches by the moon. Groups of peasants went by, singing wild and melancholy choruses. Before Signor Carboni's white house, there was an enclosed square court with high walls. Entrance was through a large red door. The boys hammered loudly. At last the door opened and Anania handed in the bowl, explaining the sad case of Efès Cau. "Sure the soup's not for yourselves?" asked the servant girl suspiciously. "Go to the devil, Maria _Iscorronca_,[11]" said Bustianeddu; "we don't want your dirty broth!" "Little animal, I'll pay you out!" said the girl chasing him into the street. Bustianeddu scampered off, but Anania made his own way into the moonlit court. "What is it? What do those boys want?" asked a faint little voice from the shadow near the kitchen-door. Anania went forward. "It's only me!" he said, "Efès Cau is fearfully bad. He's at the mill, and _Mother_ wants the mistress to send him a cup of soup." "Come in!" said the voice. The servant who had failed to catch Bustianeddu, now made an attack upon Anania. But the little girl who had said "Come in," sprang to the rescue of the boy from the mill. "Let him alone. What harm has he done? Go and fetch him the soup at once--this minute!" said the young lady, dragging the maid by her skirt. This protection, this piping-tone of authority, this plump, rosy little person dressed in blue woollen, with an important little turned up nose, very round cheeks, eyes shining in the moonlight between two curls of auburn hair--pleased Anania immensely. He recognized the _padrone_'s daughter Margherita Carboni, known by sight to all the children who frequented the olive-mill. Once or twice Margherita had handed the barley or the lamp-oil to Anania when he had been sent for them. He often saw her in the orchard garden, and sometimes her father had brought her to the mill. Never had he imagined that this rosy young lady with the superb air, could be so affable and pleasant. The maid went for the soup, and Margherita asked all about Efès Cau's seizure. "He had his dinner here--in this very courtyard," she said very seriously, "he seemed perfectly well." "It's because he drinks;" said Anania also very serious, "he twisted about like a cat!" Then Anania's face grew red; he had suddenly remembered the torn cat which Uncle Pera had caught in the snare, and that reminded him of the hundred lire stolen and hidden in the oak tree in the garden. Stolen! The hundred lire stolen! Whatever would Margherita Carboni say, if she knew that he, Anania, the son of the olive-miller, the foundling, the dependent with whom the little lady was deigning to be so pleasant and affable--had stolen a hundred lire and that these hundred lire were at this moment hidden in her own garden! A thief! He was a thief; and he had thieved an enormous sum. Now he perceived the full shame of his evil deed. Now he felt humiliation, grief, remorse.