"And have you got that much?"
"Why, of course I have!"
"Then go, go by all means!" exclaimed the old man, stretching his arms out towards the horizon.
They were both silent for a moment. The fisherman, bending his head, gazed at the pebbles lying at his feet, while Costantino stared absently ahead of him. Beyond the brook, the tall, yellow, meadow-grass was bowing in the wind, and the long stems of the golden oats rippled against the blue background of the sky.
Uncle Isidoro made up his mind that the moment had come to tell Costantino plainly why all his friends wanted him to leave the village.
"Giovanna," he began quietly, "does not love her husband; you and she might meet——"
"She and I might meet? Well, and if we did, what then?"
"Nothing; you might, that's all."
"Oh, nothing!" cried Costantino, and his voice rang out scornfully in the profound stillness; "nothing! I tell you that I despise that low woman. I don't want her."