She tore off a great piece of the linen kerchief on her head, dipped it in water and laid it on Filippo's bleeding brow. Then they lifted him, and the men started to carry him to Treppi. Fenice, after watching them some time with anxious, straining eyes, gathered up her skirts and went rapidly down the rough and stony mountain path.
It was nearly three in the afternoon when she reached Pistoja. The Fortuna Inn was some hundred paces outside the town, and at this hour of siesta there was not much life about the place. Carriages, with the horses taken out, stood in the shade under the overhanging roof, the drivers fast asleep on the cushions; opposite, too, at the great smithy, work had stopped; and not a breath of air penetrated through the dusty trees along the high road. Fenice went up to the fountain before the house, the busy jet of water flowing ceaselessly down into the great stone trough, and there refreshed her hands and face. Then she took a long slow drink to satisfy both thirst and hunger, and went into the inn.
The landlord got up sleepily from the bench at the bar, but sat down again when he saw that it was only a girl from the hills who thus disturbed his rest.
"What do you want?" he said to her sharply. "If you want anything to eat, or wine to drink, go to the kitchen."
"Are you the landlord?" she asked quietly.
"I should think so; I should think everyone knew me—Baldassare Tizzi, of the Fortuna. What do you bring me, my good girl?"
"A message from the lawyer, Signor Filippo Mannini."
"Eh, what? Indeed? That's another matter," and he got up hurriedly. "Is he not coming himself, child? There are some gentlemen here waiting for him."
"Then take me to them."