"Of what am I accused?" Franco repeated.
"You will soon find out if you remain here," the Commissary replied, laying stress upon the last words. "And now let us examine these dahlias."
"I have done nothing!" Franco once more repeated. "I will not leave."
"Let us see these dahlias, let us see these dahlias," the Commissary insisted.
Franco felt that he should thank this man, but he could not. He showed him his flowers with just that amount of civility that was indispensable, and with perfect composure. Then he conducted him from the kitchen-garden to the house, talking of some obscure Professor Maspero, and of his secret method of combating oidium.
In the hall they were discussing another and far worse form of oidium. Signora Peppina was harassed by a terrible fear of cholera. She recognised that cholera served as a warning to every good Christian to make his peace with God, and that when we are at peace with God, it is indeed a blessing to be called to the next world, "but still, this body of ours, you know! This precious body! And when you reflect that we have only one!"
"The cholera," said Luisa, "might do no end of good, if it had any sense, but it has not. You see," she whispered to Signora Peppina as Bianconi rose and went towards the Commissary, who had returned with Franco, "the cholera is quite capable of taking you, and leaving your husband." At this extraordinary remark the terrified Peppina started violently, exclaiming: "Jesusmaria!" and then, perceiving she had betrayed her true feelings, that she had not exhibited that tenderness for Carlascia of which she was always prating, she clutched her neighbour's knee, and bending forward, said in an undertone, her face as red as a poppy: "Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet!"
But Luisa was no longer thinking of her. A glance from Franco had warned her that something had happened.
When all the visitors had departed, Uncle Piero sat down to read the Milan Gazette, and Luisa said to her husband: "It is three o'clock. Let us go and wake Maria."