Marietta looked rather frightened.
“I did not know it myself, Signorino,” was her meek apology. “I heard it in the village this morning, when the Signorino sent me to buy coarse salt.”
“Oh, I see.” He sank back upon his rustic bench. “You are forgiven.” He extended his hand in sign of absolution. “Are they ever coming back?”
“Naturally, Signorino.”
“What makes you think so?”
“But they will naturally come back.”
“I felicitate you upon your simple faith. When?”
“Oh, fra poco. They have gone to Rome.”
“To Rome? You're trifling with me. People do not go to Rome in August.”
“Pardon, Signorino. People go to Rome for the feast of the Assumption. That is the 15th. Afterwards they come back,” said Marietta, firmly.