As he sat dreamily thinking over these things, and watching the shadows turn to a darker purple under the oil-lamps, a woman spoke to him.

“Well, Gregorio, are you asleep?”

“No,” said he, turning toward his questioner.

The woman laughed.  She was a big woman, dressed in loose folds of red and blue.  Her hair was dishevelled, and ornamented with brass pins fastened into it at random.  Her sleeves were rolled up to her armpits, and she had her arms akimbo—­fat, flabby arms that shook as she laughed.  Her eyes were almost hidden, she screwed them up so closely, but her wide mouth opened and disclosed a row of gigantic, flawless teeth.

Gregorio frowned as he looked at her.  He knew her well and had never liked her.  But he dare not quarrel with her, for he owed her money, and “for the love of his black eyes,” as she told him, she had ever a bottle of wine ready for him when he wished.

“Well, my good woman,” he blurted out, surlily, “you seem to be amused.”

“I am, Gregorio.  Tell me,” she continued, slyly, seating herself beside him and placing her elbows on the table, “how is she?”

“Who?”

“Xantippe.  She came to me to-day, and I saw she had been crying.  But I said nothing, because it is not always wise to ask questions.  I thought she wept because she was hungry and because the baby was hungry.  I offered her food and she took some, but so little, scarcely enough to cover a ten-piastre piece.  ‘That is for the baby,’ I said; ’now some for you.’  But she refused.”

“Perhaps she had food for herself,” said Gregorio, shifting uneasily in his chair.

“Perhaps,” said the woman, and laughed again, more loudly than ever, till the table shook.  “But she asked me for something else,” she continued, when her merriment languished for want of breath; “she asked me to let her have an old dress of mine, a bright yellow-and-red dress, and she borrowed some ornaments.  It is not right of you, Gregorio, to keep an old friend on the door-step when you have a fantasia.”

Gregorio scowled savagely.  After a pause he said, “I don’t know why my wife wanted your dress and ornaments.”

“Oh yes, you do, friend Gregorio.”  And she laughed again, this time a suppressed, chuckling laugh that threatened to choke her; and she supported her chin on her hands, while her eyes peered through the enveloping fat at the man who sat opposite to her.  Suddenly she stood up, and taking Gregorio by the arm dragged him to the door.

“See, there she goes.  My garments are cleverly altered and suit her finely, don’t they?  Ah, well, my friend, a man who cannot support a wife should marry a woman who can support him.”

Gregorio did not stop to answer her, but pushed past her into the street.  The woman watched him enter the house opposite, and then returned quietly to her work.  But there was a smile hovering round her lips as she murmured to herself, “Ah, well, in time.”