“Because I cannot, conscientiously.”

Don Rocco finally raised his eyes.  “I have already told the countess that I cannot go against justice.”

“What justice!  Your justice is blind, my dear.  Blind, deaf, and bald.  And if you said a foolish thing yesterday do you wish to repeat it again to-day?  And if you do not believe what is said of Lucia are there lacking reasons for sending away a servant?  Send her away because she does not take the spots off your coat, because she does not darn your stockings.  Anything!  Send her away because she cooks your macaroni without sauce, and your squash without salt.”

“The real reason would always be the other one,” answered Don Rocco gloomily.

Even Professor Marin could not easily answer an argument of this kind.  He could only mumble between his teeth:  “Holy Virgin, what a pig-head!”

They reached the few consumptive cypresses along the ridge that led from the hill to another still higher hill.  There they stopped again; and the professor, who was fond of Don Rocco on account of his simple goodness, and also because he could make him the butt of amiable banter, made him sit down by his side on the grass, and attempted a final argument, seeking in every way to extract from him his reasons for continuing so long to believe in the innocence of Lucia; but he did not succeed in getting at any result.  Don Rocco kept always referring to what he had said the evening before to Countess Carlotta, and repeated that he could not change.

“Then, good-bye St. Luke, my son,” said the resigned Marin.

Don Rocco began to wink furiously, but said not a word.

“The Countess Carlotta was expecting you today,” said the professor, “but you did not go to her.  She therefore charged me to tell you that if you did not immediately consent to send away Lucia on the first of December, you will be free for the new year, and even before if you wish.”

“I cannot leave before Christmas,” said Don Rocco timidly.  “The parish priest always needs assistance at that time.”

The professor smiled.

“What do you suppose?” said he.  “That Countess Carlotta hasn’t a priest ready and waiting?  Think it over, for there is still time.”

Don Rocco communed with himself.  It rarely happened that he went through so rapid a process of reasoning.  Granted, that this woman was a cause for scandal in the country, and that the countess had another priest at her disposal, the decision to be taken was obvious.

“Then,” he answered, “I will leave as soon as possible.  My father and my sister were to come and visit me one of these days.  So that now it will be I who will visit them instead.”

He even had in his heart the idea of taking this woman away from the village with him.  His people had no need of a servant, and he, if he delayed finding a place, would not be able to keep her.  But certain reasonable ideas, certain necessary things, never reached his heart, and reached his head very late, and when they did Don Rocco would either give himself a knock on the forehead, or a scratch behind, as if it bothered him.