"Very—poverini! they have had nothing since this morning. Now it is five o'clock."
"Don't feed them, Adamo, don't feed them." The marchesa is strangely excited. She holds out her hand to detain him.
Adamo stares at her in mute consternation. "The padrona is certainly going mad before she dies," he mutters, trying to get away.
"Adamo, come here!" He approaches her, secretly making horns against the evil-eye with his fingers. "You saved my life, now you must save my honor."
The words came hissing into his ear. Adamo drew back a step or two.
"Blessed mother, what ails her?" But he held his tongue.
The marchesa stands before him drawn up to her full height, every nerve and muscle strained to the utmost.
"Adamo, do you hear?—My honor, the honor of my name. Quick, quick!"
She lays her hand on his rough jacket and grasps it.
Adamo, struck with superstitious awe, cannot speak. He nods.
"The dogs are hungry, you say. Let them loose without feeding. No one must leave the house to-night. Do you understand? You must prevent it. Let the dogs loose."