with her back to the hearth, looking at him, with a wooden
spoon in her hand.

"Beans," she said slowly, and she looked up at the rafters and down
again at her husband.

"You have told me so," he growled, "and may the devil fly away with
you!"

"Beans are not good for people who have the fever," observed Nanna.

"Beans are rather heavy food," assented the innkeeper, apparently
understanding. "Bread and water are better. Pour a little oil on the
bread."

"A man who has the fever may die of eating beans," said Nanna
thoughtfully. "This is also to be considered."

"It is true." Paoluccio looked at his wife in silence for a moment. "But
a person who is dead must be buried," he continued, as if he had
discovered something. "When a person is dead, he is dead, whether he
dies of eating beans or--"

He broke off significantly, and his right hand, as it lay before him,
straightened itself and made a very slight vibrating motion, with the
fingers all close together. It is the gesture that means the knife among
the southern people. Nanna instantly looked round, to be sure that no
one else was in the room.

"When you have given that medicine, you cannot send for the doctor," she
observed, lowering her voice. "But if he eats, and dies, what can any
one say? We have fed him for charity; it is Friday and we have given him
beans. What can we know? Are not beans good food? We have nothing else,
and it is for charity, and we give what we have. I don't think they
could expect us to give him chickens and French wine, could they?"

Paoluccio growled approval.

"It is forty-seven days," continued Nanna. "You can make the account.
Chickens and milk and fresh meat for forty-seven days! Even the bread
comes to something in that time, at least two soldi a day--two forties
eighty, two sevens fourteen, ninety-four--nearly five francs. Who will
give us the five francs? Are we princes?"

"There is the cow," observed Paoluccio with a grin.

"Imbecile," retorted his wife. "It has been a good year; we bought the
wine cheap, we sell it dear, without counting what we get for nothing
from the carters; we buy a cow with our earnings, and where is the
miracle?"

The innkeeper looked towards the door and the small window suspiciously
before he answered in a low voice.

"If I had not been sure that he would die, I would not have sold the
watch and chain," he said. "In the house of my father we have always
been honest people."

"He will di