The old woman, who was mistress of the house, took hold of one of the sacks, dragged it to the centre of the room and then back to where she had found it. ‘Stop that at once,’ she told the girl, panting from her efforts. ‘You mustn’t give up yet. Even if the prosecutor asks for hard labour, it doesn’t mean the jury will follow him like a pack of mad dogs.’

Still the desperate sobbing continued.

‘Get up or I’ll call your mother,’ ordered the woman, seizing the girl by the hair and forcing her head up.

She had a lovely face, round, rosy and ringed by a tangle of black hair. From beneath thick brows her dark, tear-stained eyes glistened. ‘Leave me alone to my fate, Porredda,’ she screamed. ‘Thirty years. That’s what they’ll give him!’

‘Fate or no fate, get up. What’s thirty years? You’re carrying on like a wildcat.’

‘What’s thirty years?’ Giovanna cried out, tearing her hair in her frenzy. ‘A man’s whole life, Porredda. You don’t understand a thing. Go away and leave me alone, for the love of God.’

‘Get up, damn you, and stop all this,’ Porredda said. ‘There’ll be plenty of time to tear your hair out tomorrow. Your husband hasn’t been sentenced yet.’

Giovanna bowed her head and again began to cry. ‘Costantino, Costantino,’ she wailed, heart-broken. ‘I’ll never see you again, never again. Those mad dogs have taken you and shackled you, and they’ll never let you go. Our house will be empty, our bed cold, our family torn apart.’

Giovanna’s grief moved Porredda. Not knowing what else to do, the old woman went out on to the balcony. ‘Bachisia, come up here,’ she called. ‘Your daughter’s losing her mind.’

There was a footstep on the outer staircase. Porredda came back in, followed by a tall, tragic-looking woman dressed in black. Her yellow, hawklike face and gleaming green eyes were framed by a black scarf. Her mere presence seemed to have a calming effect on the girl.

‘Get up!’ the tall woman commanded in a harsh voice.

Giovanna rose. She was tall, well-built, yet slim. Her short woollen skirt had a purple stripe that swelled over muscular thighs and a green hem that revealed small feet and shapely legs.

‘Why are you being so troublesome?’ her mother said. ‘Stop it at once and come down to dinner. Don’t frighten the children or spoil these good people’s happiness.’

‘These good people’s happiness’ referred to the arrival that same evening of the son of the house, a law student home for the holidays.