Lucia now dismounted, led the mule into his stable and retreated to her dismal little room out of her mother’s way. Here she sat down quite exhausted on the only chair it contained, and drew a deep breath.
“Now no one can kill him for marrying me, for they will make him,” she said softly to herself, “and he won’t refuse. He likes me, I’m sure of that now, and Pietro Antonio won’t dare to touch him, for he would have the whole village against him.”
It was about an hour after all this commotion that the first of the Palenella peasants entered Don Ernano’s wineshop and called for a tumbler of wine. In a few seconds more another came in, and then a third, and before the barber knew where he was, his room was filled with peasants, all of whom carried knives in their gay-colored sashes, and looked very menacing.
Don Lugeno, though peaceably disposed, was a brave man enough, but he could not help feeling somewhat aghast on the present occasion, for there was evidently something strange about his visitors.
“Don Ernano,” began the spokesman, “you have cut off the plait of one of our girls—eh? is it so?”
“Yes!”returned the barber with some embarrassment, but without the slightest suspicion of what was meant, or what the question boded.
“Have you the plait?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Then please to show it to us.”
The barber went and fetched it from the cupboard and held it up, saying, “Here it is.”