Annetta had risen to her feet and was watching the glasses, as the old woman stirred the white syrup in the water with an old-fashioned, long-handled spoon. She did not wish to seem absurdly suspicious, and yet she distrusted her enemy. She took one of the glasses, went to his side, and held it to his lips as one gives an invalid drink.
"After you," he said, with a polite smile, but raising his hand to take the glass.
"Sick people first, well people afterwards," answered Annetta, smiling too, but watching him intently.
He had satisfied himself that she really suspected foul play, for he knew the peasants well, and was only a degree removed from them himself. He at once dismissed her suspicions by drinking half the tumbler at a draught. She immediately took the other and emptied it eagerly, as she was really very thirsty.
"A little more?" suggested Serafina, in her croaking voice.
"No," interposed Sor Tommaso. "It might hurt her—so much at once."
But Annetta filled the tumbler with pure water, and emptied it again.
"At last!" she exclaimed with a sigh of satisfaction. "What thirst! I seemed to have eaten ashes! And now I thank you, Sor Tommaso, and I am going home; for it is Ave Maria, and I do not wish to make a bad meeting in the dark as happened to you. Ugly assassins! I will never forgive them, never! What am I to say at home? That you will come to supper one of these days?"
"Eh, if God wills," answered the doctor. "I will be accompanied by Serafina."
"I!" exclaimed the old woman. "I am afraid even of a cat! What could I do for you?"