"Maria Delsarto!" shouted the attendant.
Candido shivered and groaned aloud. They were calling his own wife to testify against him! He grew cold with terror. There was a conspiracy to get rid of him. The two had a secret understanding! What if she admitted having seen the pistol in his hands? And his threats! Now in truth it was all over! He settled himself stolidly, his eyes fixed upon the varnished table before him.
Maria came forward, carrying her babe in her arms—Ludovico's "piccolo bambino!" She was still young and slight; but cheeks a little sunken and lips a little set told the story of her dire struggle with poverty. In her eyes glowed the beauty of her race, and their long lashes drooped on her pale cheeks as her lips moved automatically, repeating after the interpreter the words of the oath.
Candido did not raise his own eyes. For him all desire for life had vanished. His wife was about to sacrifice him for a new lover, a Sicilian! He sat motionless. The sooner it was done the better.
Maria let one hand lie gently on the arm of the witness chair, while with the other she caressed the sleeping child in her lap. Her gray shawl fell away from behind her head and showed a white neck around which hung a slender gold chain bearing a little cross. She looked neither at Candido nor at the jury. Then she took the little cross in her hand and glanced down at it.
"Your name?" asked the prosecutor.
"Maria Delsarto." Her voice was soft, musical, distinct.
"You are the wife of the defendant?"
"Yes, signore, and this is his child."
"Do you remember that the day before the homicide of Montaro your husband brought home a revolver?"