The old woman sat down. She begged Isidoro to talk to Costantino, to advise him to leave Giovanna alone. ‘I’ll die of shame,’ she finished in a trembling voice. ‘But at least my Brontu will not suffer. If he got to know of this, it would destroy him. He’d spill blood, he’d kill Giovanna and Costantino. I keep imagining drops of blood. You’ll see, Isidoro, you’ll see. If we don’t find a way to stop this, something terrible will happen.’ Martina became paler than ever. Her lips trembled and her eyes shone with pain and anger.

‘You frighten me,’ said Isidoro, in his deep voice. ‘I’m sorry for you, but whose fault is it? Your visit reminds me of another. Giacobbe Dejas sat just where you’re sitting. He too said we must stop this thing or something terrible would happen. We tried to prevent it, but we couldn’t. You, your son, all of you brought about your own downfall. You fell into mortal sin, you disregarded God’s laws, and now your punishment has come.’

‘Ours? Just us!’ said the old woman. ‘It’s everyone’s fault. It’s Bachisia Era’s for being greedy and spiteful and pushing her daughter into Brontu’s arms. It’s Giovanna’s fault for deceiving her first husband, while loving him, and giving herself to her second husband out of self-interest. In fact, it’s not our fault at all, because we only acted out of goodwill. It’s their fault, theirs alone, and I hate them all, filthy traitors. There’ll be terrible trouble if Costantino doesn’t stop. Beg him, beseech him. Tell him not to ruin an honourable family. But if he won’t listen—’

‘Be quiet, Martina,’ begged the old man, moved by her trepidation. ‘Don’t talk nonsense. Are you sure Costantino and Giovanna are lovers?’