ou say so, it must
be true! Now, who has told you that the Englishman is making love to me?
An apoplexy on him, whoever he may be!"

"Pretty words for a girl! Sor Tommaso told me. A little more, and I
would have torn his tongue out. Just then, the Englishman came in. Sor
Tommaso got off easily."

The girl's tone changed very much when she spoke again, and there was a
dull and angry light in her eyes. Her long lips were still parted, and
showed her gleaming teeth, but the smile was altogether gone.

"Yes. Too easily," she said, almost in a whisper, and there was a low
hiss in the words.

"In the meanwhile, it is true--what he said," continued Stefanone. "You
make eyes at him. You wait for him and watch for him when he comes back
from the mountains--"

"Well? Is it not my place to serve him with his supper? If you are not
satisfied, hire a servant to wait on him. You are rich. What do I care
for the Englishman? Perhaps it is a pleasure to roast my face over the
charcoal, cooking his meat for him. As for Sor Tommaso--"

She stopped short in her speech. Her father knew what the tone meant,
and looked up for the first time.

"O-e!" he exclaimed, as one suddenly aware of a danger, and warning some
one else.

"Nothing," answered Annetta, looking down and arranging the knives and
forks symmetrically on the clean cloth she had laid.

"I might have killed him just now in hot blood, when the Englishman came
in," said Stefanone, reflectively. "But now my blood has grown cold. I
shall do nothing to him."

"So much the better for him." She still spoke in a low voice, as she
turned away from the table.

"But I will kill you," said Stefanone, "if I see you making eyes at the
Englishman."

He rose, and taking up his hat, which lay beside him, he edged his way
out along the wooden bench, moving cautiously lest he should shake the
table and upset the lamp or the bottles. Annetta had turned again, at
the threat he had uttered, and stood still, waiting for him to get out
into the room, her hands on her hips, and her eyes on fire.

"You will kill me?" she asked, just as he was opposite to her.
"Well--kill me, then! Here I am. What are you waiting for? For the
Englishman to interfere? He is washing his hands. He always takes a long
time."

"Then it is true that you have fallen in love with him?" asked
Stefanone, his anger returning.

"Him, or another. What does it matter to you? You remind me of the old
woman who beat her