"This is Sardinian," he said touching the yellowing sheepskin, "why don't you use it as a rug?" "It's a relic of my father. He was a hunter," said the woman still smiling kindly. "She's lying," thought Anania. Then he looked attentively at the deer's head and asked, "Are you a native of Nuoro?" "Yes, but I was born there by accident. My parents were just passing through." "I was born accidentally at Fonni," he said with careless voice, fingering the horns of the stag; "yes, at Fonni. My name is Anania Atonzu Derios." Having said the name, he turned and faced the woman. She did not move an eyelash. "No, it's not _she_," he thought, and felt relieved. She was not his mother. But that evening when he had brought his portmanteau and books to his new domicile, Maria said to him: "I'll give you my own room for the fortnight." In vain he protested. His things were all carried into her little chamber and Anania took possession. He felt shy, intruding thus into the long narrow room which seemed like a nun's cell. The little white bed smelt of lavender and reminded him of the simple pallet beds of the patriarchal Sardinian homes. Again, Sardinian fashion, Maria Obinu had decorated the grey walls with a row of little pictures, with sacred images, three wax candles, and three crucifixes, a branch of olive, and an immense crown made of sugar. At the head of the bed hung two bunches of medals which had been blessed by the Pope. In one corner a lamp burned before a representation of blue-pencil souls in Purgatory praying before three red-pencil ensanguined flames. What a difference between the Englishwoman's room and that of Maria Obinu! They were divided by at least five centuries. Anania was again in doubt. Why did she give him her room? Ah! she was too anxious--too affectionate! He was unpacking when she knocked and asked, without entering, whether he wished the lamp extinguished before the Holy Souls. "No!" he shouted, "but please come in. I have something to show you." In his hand was a quaint little object, a small case of greasy material hung on a thin chain blackened by time. He put the amulet round his neck and said: "I am pious myself. This is the Ricetta of San Giovanni, which wards off temptation." The woman looked. Her smile faded and Anania's heart beat. "You don't believe in it?" she said severely; "well, whether you believe or not, don't jest at it. It's holy."