By the moonlight, by the dying rays of day, he reread Margherita's letter. He kissed the sheet, put it away, and unwillingly rose to return to the town. As night came on, the moon seemed to strew the pathway with silver carvings and with coins. Far off a chorus of fishermen was heard, and still the pleasant croaking of the frogs. All was sweetness; but now the lad felt a strange invasion of melancholy, a presentiment perhaps. For when he had reached the little garden of San Lucifero, he heard loud cries, shrieks, shrill screeching of women, oaths of men. He ran. Before the pink cottages opposite to his own balcony was a group of persons engaged in a quarrel. It would seem the neighbours were not astonished, for no heads appeared at the windows of the larger houses. Apparently the place was used to such scenes, to the madness of these persons who took each other by the ears, spitting out the grossest insults. Quite close was a big man dressed in black velvet, motionless, watching, it would seem enjoying, the excitement. "The police! Where are the police?" cried Anania. The man turned his eyes slowly on the young student. "The police? Oh, the police come every week. They give a push here, and a blow there, and finish it off. Next day it begins again. They'll have to turn those women out," said the big man, pointing at two of the brawlers. "I'll have to take it in hand myself, and get a petition to the authorities signed by all the respectable householders." "But what women are they?" asked Anania, bewildered. The big man looked at him contemptuously. "Women of the streets, of course, innocent!" Anania went in so pale and panting that his landlady observed his agitation. "Never mind" she said, "it's only some stupid matter of jealousy. They'll soon be turned out. We're going to appeal to the government." "Where do--those women come from?" asked Anania. "One belongs to Cagliari. The other, I rather think, is from Capo di Sopra." The shouts redoubled. A woman cried out she was being killed. A child sobbed. God! How horrible! Anania, trembling and attracted by some irresistible force, rushed to his balcony. Above him was the purest of heavens, the moon, the stars; below, at the foot of the vaporous picture of the city, the savage scene, the group of demons, belching forth roars of rage, abominable words. Anania watched in anguish, his soul oppressed by a tremendous thought. Then came the police. Two of the brawlers ran away, the rest calmed down, the women shut themselves into their houses. In a short time all was silence, broken only by the distant rumble of a carriage, by the hoarse croaking of the frogs. But in Anania's soul dolorous tumult raged still. Alas! the illumined sea which had flooded his soul while he poured over his letters on the hill of Bonaria, had grown dark, and was tossed and torn by tempest.