All at once there was terrible confusion. The women who had been struggling with the carabiniere came rushing down with loud cries. The little girl, whom he held in his arms, screamed as loud as she could and tried to tear herself away. People came running from all sides. There were questionings and wonderings. “Let us go now,” said Donna Elisa to Donna Micaela. “Now no one is thinking of us.” But Donna Micaela had caught sight of one of the women. She screamed least, but it was instantly apparent that it was she whom the matter concerned. She looked as if she was about to lose her life’s happiness. She was a woman who had been very beautiful, although all freshness now was gone from her, for she was no longer young. But hers was still an impressive and large-souled face. “Here dwells a soul which can love and suffer,” said the face. Donna Micaela felt drawn to that poor woman as to a sister. “No, it is not the time to go yet,” she said to Donna Elisa. The carabiniere asked and asked if they would not let him come out. No, no, no! Not until he let the child go! It was the child of Piero and his wife, Marcia. But they were not the child’s real parents. The trouble arose from that. The carabiniere tried to win the people over to his side. He tried to convince, not Piero nor Marcia, but the others. “Ninetta is the child’s mother,” he said; “you all know that. She has not been able to have the child with her while she was unmarried; but now she is married, and wishes to have her child back. And now Marcia refuses to give her the boy. It is hard on Ninetta, who has not been able to have her child with her for eight years. Marcia will not give him up. She drives Ninetta away when she comes and begs for her child. Finally Ninetta had to complain to the syndic. And the syndic has told us to get her the child. It is Ninetta’s own child,” he said appealingly. But it had no great effect on the men of Corvaja. “Ninetta is a Geraci,” burst out Piero, and the circle stood fast round the carabiniere. “When we came here to fetch the child,” said the latter, “we did not find him. Marcia was dressed in black, and her rooms were draped with black, and a lot of women sat and mourned with her. And she showed us the certificate of the child’s death. Then we went and told Ninetta that her child was in the church-yard. “Well, well, a while afterwards I went on guard here in the square. I watched the children playing there. Who was strongest, and who shouted the loudest, if not one of the girls? ‘What is your name?’ I asked her. ‘Francesco,’ she answered instantly.