Her head and shoulders were completely enveloped in a petticoat worn in lieu of a shawl; her features were paler and more gaunt even than ordinary, and to Isidoro she seemed to have aged greatly.
"Sit down, Martina Dejas," said he politely, offering her a stool. "What good wind blows you here?"
"It's an ill wind," she replied. Then, looking all around her, she said: "I want to talk to you privately; can any one hear us? Where is he?"
"Still at the shop; he does not get back till later."
"Listen," said the old woman, seating herself; "you can probably guess what it is that brings me here?"
"No, I cannot guess, Martina Dejas," declared the other, though all the time he knew very well. "But why didn't you send for me? I would have gone to your house."
"At my house there is some one who has the ears of a hare; she can hear through a stone wall. Now, listen—I don't suppose I have to make you promise not to tell any one? You wouldn't betray my confidence, would you?"
"I will not betray you."
"You are a man of the Lord, Isidoro Pane; a very dreadful thing has happened; will you help me to set it right?"
"If I can," he said, spreading out his arms and hands. "Tell me about it!"