The village was buzzing with gossip about the scandalous event. Giacobbe Dejas, Isidoro Pane, and other friends no longer spoke to the Era women. Giacobbe had howled like a dog and had threatened and implored, but Bachisia had thrown him out of the house.

Although her son had supported the separation case, Porredda received the friends coldly in Nuoro, not that this lessened Giovanna’s preoccupation with her purchases. It seemed she had been slightly swindled over the linen, and the woollen kerchief with its large crimson roses had too short a fringe. There was a stain on one ribbon. All this was very worrying.

Evening fell, as on that other occasion, but everything else – the weather, her heart – was different. The guest room now had a fine window through whose panes came the brief, cold winter twilight. The new furniture, still smelling of varnish, shone with a pale gleam. The door opened on to a covered terrace and a new granite staircase led down into the old courtyard. The whole house had been renovated. The ‘Doctor’ had started up his legal business. He was sought after both for civil cases and for criminal ones. The most vile and desperate criminals, everyone who feared the law most, entrusted themselves to him.

Giovanna finished folding and repacking the linen. The saddlebag was stuffed full on both sides, and the young woman lifted it up and shook it to make the packages slip down to the bottom. Then she stood frowning thoughtfully. Leaving the room, she went downstairs slowly, her hands pushed into the two short slits in the front of her woollen skirt.

The January night was clear but cold. Against a glassy blue sky, a few silver stars trembled with cold. Crossing the courtyard, Giovanna saw, behind the lighted windows of the dining-room, Grazia’s white face and glowing eyes. The girl was holding a fashion magazine. She had become tall and beautiful and she always dressed in the latest vogue. When she saw the guest she smiled in greeting but made no move. Giovanna went into the kitchen. It too had been renovated with white walls, shining brick ovens, and an oil lamp that hung from the vaulted ceiling.

Bachisia could not get enough of it. Her little green eyes stared out of her yellow, hawklike face. She had not changed at all. She sat beside the fire with the servant, a dirty ragged wench who laughed loudly, revealing teeth that jutted out. Porredda cooked, scolding the maid for the way she laughed. So, the mistress did the cooking while the maid sat by the fire and laughed? What did Porredda mean by it? The good woman could not stand idle for a moment even though she was now the mother of a distinguished lawyer.

Giovanna sat down at some distance from the fire, her hands still in the slits of her skirt.