The second woman, who was younger, broke in with an expressive gesture.
“Eh, that it true! It is over, poor fellow, thanks to the Madonna! As for who he is, he is the Cesare who shot his sister a little while ago.”
“His sister!” repeated Donna Teresa, shocked. “Do you mean that he murdered her?”
“Murdered! ma che!” said the woman indignantly. “He loved her. He was an excellent brother. As for her”—she shrugged her shoulders—“she was no good, and would not listen, so he shot her—and him. Only, unluckily, he was not killed.”
Teresa, feeling that she was suddenly rubbing shoulders with a tragedy, had forgotten her own annoyance and herself. She asked quickly—
“But why was not this Cesare punished?”
“For what, madama? He was an excellent brother.”
“And my husband said they made the court ring when he was acquitted,” chimed in the second woman.
There was a momentary silence before Teresa became aware of a voice at her elbow—
“Hadn’t we better—”