Silvestro grew hot—desperate. Why, after all, would one kill a Jew? Something must be urged, something solid.
"There was Annina, you know," said Silvestro, at his wit's end.
"Annina—that girl you were with? What of her?" Castracane licked his lips.
"Well, this Jew, you must understand, was a limber young fellow—"
"Young!" shouted the other. "You told me he had a great grey beard like a goat."
"It wasn't very grey—not so grey as a goat's. Well, he was always following Annina about, making her presents, cadging for favours. Accidente! I couldn't stand it, you must know. So, thinking of Annina, and of Gesù Cristo, and one thing and another, I decided to follow him back to the Via Gatta—and so I did."
Andrea leaned forward, hoarsely whispering (blessed diversion!)—
"Say, Silvestro, what colour was the Jew's blood?"
Silvestro opened wide those blue eyes, which had wrought such havoc among the Paduan nobility.