"Yes, it's gone back. Come to Mummy a moment." He came and sat with his plump, naked little body on her naked lap, and she smoothed his burnt, bright hair. She said nothing, feeling that everything was passed. The curious soothing power of the sun filled her, filled the whole place like a charm, and the snake was part of the place, along with her and the child. Another day, in the dry stone wall of one of the olive terraces, she saw a black snake horizontally creeping. "Marinina," she said, "I saw a black snake. Are they harmful?" "Ah, the black snakes, no! But the yellow ones, yes! If the yellow ones bite you, you die. But they frighten me, they frighten me, even the black ones, when I see one." Juliet still went to the cypress tree with the child. But she always looked carefully round before she sat down, examining everywhere where the child might go. Then she would lie and turn to the sun again, her tanned, pear-shaped breasts pointing up. She would take no thought for the morrow. She refused to think outside her garden, and she could not write letters. She would tell the nurse to write. IV It was March, and the sun was growing very powerful. In the hot hours she would lie in the shade of the trees, or she would even go down to the depths of the cool lemon grove. The child ran in the distance, like a young animal absorbed in life. One day she was sitting in the sun on the steep slope of the gully, having bathed in one of the great tanks. Below, under the lemons, the child was wading among the yellow oxalis flowers of the shadow, gathering fallen lemons, passing with his tanned little body into flecks of light, moving all dappled. Suddenly, high over the land's edge, against the full-lit pale blue sky, Marinina appeared, a black cloth tied round her head, calling quietly: "_Signora_! _Signora Julietta_!" Juliet faced round, standing up. Marinina paused a moment, seeing the naked woman standing alert, her sun-faded fair hair in a little cloud. Then the swift old woman came on down the slant of the steep track. She stood a few steps, erect, in front of the sun-coloured woman, and eyed her shrewdly. "But how beautiful you are, you!" she said coolly, almost cynically. "There is your husband." "My husband!" cried Juliet. The old woman gave a shrewd bark of a little laugh, the mockery of the women of the past. "Haven't you got one, a husband, you?" she taunted. "But where is he?" cried Juliet. The old woman glanced over her shoulder. "He was following me," she said. "But he will not have found the path." And she gave another little bark of a laugh. The paths were all grown high with grass and flowers and nepitella, till they were like bird-trails in an eternally wild place. Strange, the vivid wildness of the old places of civilisation, a wildness that is not gaunt. Juliet looked at her serving-woman with meditating eyes. "Oh, very well!" she said at last. "Let him come."