“Let some one get my horse!”
“Who? The ostlers have gone to bed.”
“I will go to the stables myself.”
“They have bewitched you at Pocovnicu!” said the lady with a ripple of laughter, as she barred my passage through the door.
I put her gently on one side and went out on to the veranda. It was indeed a dreadful night. The drivers’ fires had died down, men and animals were sleeping on the straw, lying one against the other on the ground, while above them the wind howled wildly.
“There is a great storm,” said Mistress Marghioala, shuddering as she seized me firmly by the hand. “You are mad to start in such weather. Stay the night here: start at daybreak to-morrow.”
“That’s impossible.”
I forcibly withdrew my hand. I proceeded to the stables. With great difficulty I roused an ostler and found my horse. I tightened the girths, fastened the horse to the steps, and then went to the room to bid my hostess good night. The woman, immersed in thought, was sitting on the bed with my cap in her hand. She was turning and twisting it about.
“How much have I to pay?” I asked.
“You can pay me when you come back,” replied my hostess, looking intently into the lining of my cap.