‘They’re not in sight. You’re not going to go, are you, Your Reverence?’

‘Are you going?’ asked the priest with a smile.

‘That’s another matter entirely. I go for the food, not to honour that rabble.’

Soon the procession arrived and the ceremony began. When her little, bald, red head was uncovered, the baby let out a bleating cry. Still smiling and holding the lighted candle, the godfather tried to remember the creed. Giovanna had begged him to recite it carefully so that the baptism would be valid.

The urchins, who had managed to get inside the church, now set up a rustle like a flock of moths. The godmother’s maid with her tray and the woman who had carried the baby sat on the altar steps, anxiously waiting for the godfather’s gift.

When the ceremony was over, the gifts given, the baby dressed again, Brontu and his friends waited uneasily. Father Elias had gone into the sacristy to disrobe. Would he come out again? Would he come back to the house with them?

He did not come out again, so the procession left rather gloomily, followed by the triumphant sacristan. Brontu felt like giving the man a dose of bitter lime juice rather than cakes and pastries. The people came out to watch the procession, and many, especially the women, smiled spitefully when the priest did not appear. It was like the baptism of a bastard. Although she had not really expected the priest to come, Giovanna went pale when the procession entered the room and she kissed the baby sadly.

‘I remembered the creed right to the very last word,’ said Dr Porru. ‘Cheer up, cousin. Your baby will be a portent, tall as her godmother, happy as her godfather.’

‘Perhaps as lucky as her godfather,’ murmured Giovanna.

‘Now for supper,’ exclaimed the young lawyer, rubbing his hands. ‘A fine custom this, upon my word, very fine.’

He clapped his hands again as if summoning children, and they all sat down to the table to eat the macaroni. It was followed by a roast piglet from which there arose a fragrant aroma of rosemary.

A few days later a curious incident took place. Beside Isidoro Pane’s house was an ancient muck heap almost solidified by time. Strange pale grass and the sickly white stalks of rank weeds covered it. It had grown into a sort of knoll and no longer gave off any smell.

One evening at dusk, Isidoro Pane was preparing his supper when he heard a noise coming from the direction of the knoll. He hurried to the door and peered out into the cool greenish twilight.