the Bréton solitudes, à l'abri des hommes. But the spirit that moved him to write it was in her. Zirlo tilted himself over on his back.
He was a child, so he let the reply he had had go by without compliment. He said instead:
'I forgot to tell you, Saturnino is taken.'
'Taken!'
She left off eating and stared at him, with a light in her gaze and a flush on her cheek.
'Yes. On the coast. A woman was selling his gold things for him, and they shot him down in the Orbetellano.'
She leapt to her feet, her eyes flashed, her whole face lit up with exultation.
'Selling my gold—their gold! They took him so? I am glad! I am glad!'
'It was not yours,' said Zefferino, who knew from her what the galley-slave had done.
'No. It was theirs. It was sacred. He stole it; he is well served. If it had been my own I would not have minded; but a thing that belonged to the dead! oh, it was vile, vile! And I wronged Joconda that I might feed him; I left her alone to return to him, and she died; I am glad
