III
The next morning, having recovered from the effects of the wine, Mastro Peppe awoke, stood up in bed, and stretched himself, listening to the bells saluting the eve of San Antonio. Already in his mind, in the confusion of the first awakening, he saw Lepruccio cut into pieces and cover his beautiful fat pork-meat with salt, and his soul was filled with happiness at this thought. Impatient for the anticipated delight, he dressed hastily and went out to the stair-case, wiping his eyes to see more clearly. Upon the table where he had left the pig, the morning sun was smiling in, but nothing was there save a stain of blood!
“The pig? Where is the pig?” cried the robbed man in a hoarse voice.
In a frenzy, he descended the stairs, and noticing the open door, striking his forehead, he ran out crying, and called the labourers around him, asking every one if they had seen the pig, if they had taken it. His queries came faster and faster and his voice grew louder and louder, until the sound of the uproar came up the river to Ciavola and Ristabilito.
They came tranquilly upon the group to enjoy the spectacle and keep up the joke. As they came in sight, Mastro Peppe turned to them, weeping in his grief, and exclaimed:
“Oh, dear me! They have stolen my pig! Oh, dear me! What am I to do now? What am I to do?”
Biagio Quaglia stood a moment considering the appearance of the unhappy fellow, his eyes half-closed in an expression which was half sneer, half admiration, his head bent sideways, as though judging of the effect of this acting. Then approaching, he said:
“Yes indeed!... One cannot deny it ... You play your part well!”
Peppe, not understanding, lifted his face, streaked with tears.
“Yes, yes indeed! You are becoming very cunning!” continued Ristabilito with an air of confidential friendship.