"Come," he commanded Marta and the child late in the afternoon. "We must move on to Cava. To–morrow is fete day there and we must reach the place to–night."
Guiseppe was himself again.
He took no notice of Pappina's lagging footsteps, showed no appreciation of her thoughtfulness during his illness, being absorbed in visions of her tambourine full of coins on the morrow. He walked so rapidly that Marta and Pappina could hardly keep up with him.
Reaching Pagani, he stopped near the main road of the little hamlet.
"Sing," he commanded in an ugly tone.
Pappina was tired. Guiseppe had been so cross all the way from Pompeii that she did not care to please him.
"I won't!" she answered in quite as ugly a tone as the man had used to her.
"Won't sing, eh? No songs, no supper," he muttered, half tempted to shake her in his rage.
Pappina was even more hungry than tired, so she sang and danced, without any spirit, to the few people who gathered around them just a very tired, dusty little girl singing for her supper.
The smallness of the sum collected enraged Guiseppe, and as soon as the people left he began to upbraid her.