She said aloud, although no one heard her, that the summer palace was only a big, ugly old house, and Diamante a poor and miserable town. Naturally, she would not allow her father to leave her. Don Ferrante would see. When they had eaten their dinner Don Ferrante wished to go to the Café Europa and play dominoes, and he looked about for his hat. Donna Micaela took his hat and followed him out to the gallery that ran round the court-yard. When they were far enough from the dining-room for her father not to be able to hear them, she said passionately:-- “Have you anything against my father?”--“He is too expensive.”--“But you are rich.”--“Who has given you such an idea? Do you not see how I am struggling?”--“Save in some other way.”--“I shall save in other ways. Giannita has had presents enough.”--“No, economize on something for me.”--“You! you are my wife; you shall have it as you have it.” She stood silent a moment. She was thinking what she could say to frighten him. “If I am now your wife, do you know why it is?”--“Oh yes.”--“Do you also know what the priest promised me?”--“That is his affair, but I do what I can.”--“You have heard, perhaps, that I broke with all my friends in Catania when I heard that my father had sought help from them and had not got it.”--“I know it.”--“And that I came here to Diamante that he might escape from seeing them and being ashamed?”--“They will not be coming to the brotherhood.”--“When you know all this, are you not afraid to do anything against my father?”--“Afraid? I am not afraid of my wife.” “Have I not made you happy?” she asked.--“Yes, of course,” he answered indifferently.--“Have you not enjoyed singing to me? Have you not liked me to have considered you the most generous man in Sicily? Have you not been glad that I was happy in the old palace? Why should it all come to an end?” He laid his hand on her shoulder and warned her. “Remember that you are not married to a fine gentleman from the Via Etnea!”--“Oh, no!”--“Up here on the mountain the ways are different. Here wives obey their husbands. And we do not care for fair words. But if we want them we know how to get them.” She was frightened when he spoke so. In a moment she was on her knees before him. It was dark, but enough light came from the other rooms for him to see her eyes. In burning prayer, glorious as stars, they were fixed on him. “Be merciful! You do not know how much I love him!” Don Ferrante laughed. “You ought to have begun with that. Now you have made me angry.” She still knelt and looked up at him. “It is well,” he said, “for you hereafter to know how you shall behave.” Still she knelt. Then he asked: “Shall I tell him, or will you?” Donna Micaela was ashamed that she had humbled herself. She rose and answered imperiously: “I shall tell him, but not till the last day. And you _shall_ not let him notice anything.” “No, I _shall_ not,” he said, and mimicked her. “The less talk about it, the better for me.”