“Would you?” the marchesa fell into a muse.

Again the dogs howled.  Adamo makes a motion to go to them.

“Were you going to feed the dogs when I called to you?” she asks.

“Padrona, yes.  I was going to feed them.”

“Are they very hungry?”

“Very—­poverini! they have had nothing since this morning.  Now it is five o’clock.”

“Don’t feed them, Adamo, don’t feed them.”  The marchesa is strangely excited.  She holds out her hand to detain him.

Adamo stares at her in mute consternation.  “The padrona is certainly going mad before she dies,” he mutters, trying to get away.

“Adamo, come here!” He approaches her, secretly making horns against the evil-eye with his fingers.  “You saved my life, now you must save my honor.”

The words came hissing into his ear.  Adamo drew back a step or two.  “Blessed mother, what ails her?” But he held his tongue.

The marchesa stands before him drawn up to her full height, every nerve and muscle strained to the utmost.

“Adamo, do you hear?—­My honor, the honor of my name.  Quick, quick!”

She lays her hand on his rough jacket and grasps it.

Adamo, struck with superstitious awe, cannot speak.  He nods.

“The dogs are hungry, you say.  Let them loose without feeding.  No one must leave the house to-night.  Do you understand?  You must prevent it.  Let the dogs loose.”

Again Adamo nods.  He is utterly bewildered.  He will obey her, of course, but what can she mean?

“Is your gun loaded?” she asks, anxiously.

“Yes, padrona.”

“That is well.”  A vindictive smile lights up her features.  “No one must leave the house to-night.  You understand?  The dogs will be loose—­the guns loaded.—­Where is Pipa?  Say nothing to Pipa.  Do you understand?  Don’t tell Pipa—­”

“Understand?  No, diavalo!  I don’t understand,” bursts out Adamo.  “If you want any one shot, tell me who it is, padrona, and I will do it.”

“That would be murder, Adamo.”  The marchesa is standing very near him.  Adamo sees the savage gleam that comes into her eyes.  “If any one leaves the house to-night except Fra Pacifico, stop him, Adamo, stop him.  You, or the dogs, or the gun—­no matter.  Stop him, I command you.  I have my reasons.  If a life is lost I cannot help it—­nor can you, Adamo, eh?”

She smiles grimly.  Adamo smiles too, a stolid smile, and nods.  He is greatly relieved.  The padrona is not mad, nor will she die.

“You may sleep in peace, padrona.”  With the utmost respect Adamo raises her hand to his lips and kisses it.  “Next time ask Adamo to do something more, and he will do it.  Trust me, no one shall leave the house to-night alive.”

The marchesa listens to Adamo breathlessly.  “Go—­go,” she says; “we must not be seen together.”

“The signora shall be obeyed,” answers Adamo.  He vanishes behind the trees.