And all his most bitter memories came back to him; came back horrible and deformed, like corpses washing up on a shore. The next day, and in those that followed, he began to argue with his servant, forcing him to quit.

‘Get out, and may you break your legs as you must have shattered those of the poor hind.’

Malafazza sniggered scornfully.

‘Yes, I broke them! I caught her with the rope, I trussed her up and carried her to a hunter. I got three francs and nine reali: here they are, look!’

‘If you don’t leave now, I’ll shoot you.’

‘You? Like you shot your wife’s boyfriend! Like you shot the man who betrayed your daughter!’

With a face darker than his hood, his green eyes bloodshot with fury, he unhooked the musket and fired. Through the purple gunpowder smoke he saw the servant leap up like the hind and take to his heels, howling.

Then he sat down again in front of the hut, with the weapon across his knees, without regretting what he had done and ready to defend himself if he came back. But the hours passed and nobody came. Night fell, gloomy and still: the mist enveloped the horizon with a grey ribbon, and the cows and the bullocks lingered with their muzzles in the grass, unmoving, as if already asleep.

A rustle of the bushes startled the old man, but instead of his nemesis he saw the hind jump out, coming up close to him until her muzzle brushed against the stock of the musket. He thought he must be dreaming. He kept perfectly still, and the creature, on not seeing the milk, craned her neck to peer into the hut. Displeased, she turned tail and swiftly retreated. For a moment everything was silent again.

The cat which was sleeping next to the fire woke up, turned around himself and settled back down again like a border of black velvet trim.

Once again there was a commotion within the line of overgrown scrub, once again the hind popped out, leaping across the clearing. Immediately behind her, a buck leapt into view (the old man recognized the male by its darker skin and branching antlers), chasing and catching up with her. They leapt one on top of the other, in the most lively fashion, tumbling together, getting up again and resuming the race, the pursuit, the assault. The entire ancient landscape, pale in the autumn evening, seemed to rejoice in their coupling.

A little later the gentleman farmer passed by, with his plough covered with soot-black earth.

‘Baldassà, what have you done?’ he said in a voice that was grave but tinged with irony. ‘The law is out looking for you.’

‘Here I am!’ replied the old man, calm again.

‘But what made you injure your servant?’ the other insisted, determined at all costs to discover the reason behind their falling-out.

‘Leave me alone,’ the old man said at last. ‘Well if you must know, it was because of that little creature: In her eyes I saw the eyes of my poor daughter Sara.’