Beneath the portico, in a spot where a ray of sun shone through, Martina sat spinning. When she saw her neighbours returning home, she was overcome by an urge to find out what they had in their saddlebag. But she did not move and replied only stiffly to their greeting.

Towards evening Brontu returned from the fields. He visited his betrothed every third day. On this occasion his mother accompanied him, eager to know what the Eras had brought from Nuoro.

A meagre fire of juniper burned in Bachisia’s hearth, throwing long beams of reddish light on the floor and on the brick walls of the kitchen. Giovanna wanted to light the candle, but the Dejas prevented her, Martina, out of instinctive meanness and Brontu because, in the half-dark, he could watch his betrothed all the better.

Giovanna’s behaviour to Brontu and her future mother-in-law had become very strange. She seemed gentle and tender and she uttered wise observations in a soft, girlish voice. Acting by instinct rather than guile, she lowered her long eyelashes and made herself appear as demure as a fifteen-year-old. Brontu was madly in love with her, so much so that when he was drunk he would run away, kneel down, and sing hymns half-remembered from his boyhood. Then he would weep with remorse at his drunkenness and swear never again to touch another drop.

That evening he was quite sober, and he talked calmly, casting Giovanna long passionate looks. When he smiled his teeth gleamed in the fire’s reflection.

Bachisia told the Dejas about the journey, describing the lawyer, the Porrus’ kitchen, and the wings worn by the ladies. But she did not mention the conversation they had had with Porredda, nor the things they had bought, for she knew Martina was dying to see them. She herself was dying to show off all the finery.

‘What about you, Giovanna?’ asked Brontu, poking the fire with a stick. ‘You’re thoughtful tonight. What’s the matter?’

‘I’m tired,’ she replied and asked suddenly for news of Giacobbe Dejas.

‘That madman? He keeps pestering me. I’ll kick him out before long. He doesn’t have to go on working for me.’

‘I don’t know what’s the matter with him,’ said Bachisia. ‘He used to be a happy man. Now he has a house, dammit, and they say he’s going to get married, but he has such a temper. He wanted to beat us, you know.’

‘Has he ever been back?’

‘Never.’

‘Nor has Isidore Pane,’ Giovanna added in a low voice.

‘I thought I saw him go by here yesterday,’ remarked Martina.

Giovanna raised her head quickly, but she did not speak, and Brontu laughed and said, ‘You don’t need his leeches.’

‘Well?’ Martina said, after a short silence, ‘haven’t you brought me a present from Nuoro? Why are you making me wait?’