She was dressed in black, with an old hat of faded violet velvet. She had run up the stair and was panting, her face unusually red, her forehead hot and shining. "What's the matter?" asked Anania, roughly. "The matter with me? nothing," she answered, surprised; then resumed her usual pleasant smile. "Why are you sitting in the dark? Well, what have you to say to me?" "I'll wait till you've taken off your hat." She seemed struck by his voice and his frown, the more so that in the morning he had complained of not feeling well. "How hot it is! Suffocating!" she said, "are you perhaps feeling it? Tell me what you want." "First take off your hat," repeated Anania. "Why?" Anania was striking a match against the wall. He was thinking. "Better catch her suddenly before she speaks to that old monkey Aunt Varvara." "What's become of the candle? Well, look here, a friend of mine came here--ah _su diaulu t'a fattu_, the devil made you, candle, that you won't light! What a beast of a candle!" He raised his head and looked sharply at the woman who was quietly watching his efforts with the candle. "Battista Daga, another student, has been here. He wants a room. Can you give him one?" "We'll see," she said calmly, "when does he want it?" Anania began to feel irritated. "You know him, I think?" "I? No." "Aunt Varvara told me she had seen him here several times." Maria Obinu raised her eyebrows. She seemed trying to remember. Suddenly her face and her eyes burned. "Look here," she said proudly, "if you mean that pale young man, with the crooked nose, and the look of mortal sin--tell him that in my house there is no place for him!" "Why not? Please tell me. I assure you I know nothing against him. We slept for six months in the same room,--Daga and I. But I really don't know much about him--what he's up to. Tell me." Anania had sat down by the table, inadvertently pushing the candle against the wall. "I have nothing to tell you," answered the woman. "I'm not bound to give account to anyone. Let me alone. I live by my work and ask nothing from anyone. I'm better than the ladies to whom you gentlemen lift your hats! Ah!" she went on sighing heavily, "life is long! Days of trial will come to you young lads too! You will get to know the world, will find the hedge thick with serpents. They rise on every side of the path of life. You also will come upon the stone which will make you trip. And many, Signor Anania, many will never get up again. They will strike their heads against that stone and die of the blow. Perhaps those are the best off. Ah! but the Lord is merciful! The Lord is merciful!" She put her hand on her heart and again sighed heavily. "She's acting," thought Anania. "_Bostè est sapia che ì s'abba_"[17] he said ironically, "upon my word, I don't understand your sermon. What has it to do with Battista Daga? Tell me. Signora Maria."