“Signora! About Antonio Bernari, who has just come home from prison! Didn’t you see him? But you were there—in the house!”
“Oh—yes, I saw him. A rivederci!”
“Ma—”
“A rivederci!”
She felt in her purse, found a coin, and gave it to him. Then she walked on. She did not see him any more. She did not know what became of him.
Of course she had seen the return of Antonio Bernari. She remembered now. As Ruffo stood before her with the wet hair on his forehead there had come a shrill cry from the old woman in the kitchen: a cry that was hideous and yet almost beautiful, so full it was of joy. Then from the kitchen the two women had rushed in, gesticulating, ejaculating, their faces convulsed with excitement. They had seized Maddalena, Ruffo. One of them—the old woman, she thought—had even clutched at Hermione’s arm. The room had been full of cries.
“Ecco! Antonio!”
“Antonio is coming!”
“I have seen Antonio!”
“He is pale! He is white like death!”