As soon as Lucia was well out of the little town, she seemed suddenly
to discover that she had plenty of time to spare, for she let the
mule walk on as slowly as he pleased, while she herself gazed at the
golden hedge of broom which bordered the road, as if she were intent on
counting its million blossoms.
Travelling at this pace, it was noon before she reached the village;
but instead of receiving her with reproaches for her long absence, as
would usually have been the case, her mother spoke so pleasantly, that
in spite of her absence of mind, Lucia could not help being struck by
it.
She knew how obstinately bent her mother was on getting her married,
and she began to feel suspicious and alarmed. “Pietro was here a long
time yesterday,” she suddenly thought to herself; “there is something
in the wind, no doubt.” And when evening came, without saying a word to
any one, Lucia dragged her bed from its place beside her mother’s in
the large kitchen, and put it in a little store-room, with a heavy iron
door and a grated window.
“Is it possible she can have overheard what we were saying?” thought
the old woman, as she watched her daughter’s proceedings in silent
dread. But no, that was out of the question, Lucia had spent nearly
the whole time of Pietro’s visit in the church, for she herself had
met her there later. “It is only another of her whims,” she went on,
trying to comfort herself, “and it will be easy to spoil the lock of
the door some night before she goes to bed. Pietro Antonio shall not
be thwarted, if I can help it.” And having thus made up her mind, she
too went to bed; but she was still much perturbed about Lucia’s odd
behavior, and she began to fear that the girl would suddenly take
herself off to Rome and so escape out of her clutches. The more she
thought of it, the more eager she grew to bring about the marriage with
Pietro without any further loss of time. “To-morrow she will be hard at
work all day,” mused the old woman; “she will be tired out and sleep
soundly. I don’t know that there is likely to be a better opportunity.”
All through the night Lucia’s mother lay wide awake, tossing to and fro
and revolving her cruel plans in her mind. Early in the morning she
sent the previously agreed message to Pietro Antonio, and when evening
came she put a stone in the lock of the door, and thought she had made
all safe.
Lucia went to her room that night tired out with her day’s work, as her
mother had expected; but she was not too tired to notice that there was
something amiss with the door. She tried it over and over again, but it
was all in vain, the lock would not act, and she gave it up in despair.
She guessed at once what it meant, and for a moment she stood still,
trembling and almost gasping for breath; but in another moment she had
recovered herself, and made up her mind what to do.
She put out the lamp and laid down on the bed just as she was, without
undressing; but after lying there quite still for about an hour
she rose again, slipped quietly out to the stable, fetched a great
wood-cutter’s axe, and hurried noiselessly back to her chamber.
Once more she lay down, keeping her eyes wide open, listening with all
her might, and hardly daring to breathe.
Presently she heard the sound of whispering, then there was a light
step in the yard, and in the house.
One bright ray of moonlight shone through the grated window and made a
pattern of black and white bars on one patch of the stone floor, but
otherwise the room was quite dark, and Lucia now got up and stationed
herself in the darkest corner of the room. But all remained quite quiet
for nearly another hour, every moment of which seemed a century to the
poor girl.
At the end of this time, a faint light appeared through the crack of
the door, which was gently pushed open, and then appeared her mother
holding a lamp and followed by Pietro Antonio, who had a large pair of
vine-shears in his hand.
As they entered, Lucia suddenly advanced from her corner with the axe
uplifted. “Come here, you coward, if you dare,” she cried to the young
man, who stood there speechless, motionless, and as white as death from
surprise and fright.
He looked at the pale-faced girl, looked at the uplifted axe and her
strong arms, and slowly moved away without uttering a word, followed by
the old woman, who was shaking all over to such a degree that she could
hardly stand, while her teeth chattered loud enough to be heard.
They were gone! and all was still again; but Lucia spent the rest of
the night sitting on the bed-side, with her beautiful head resting
against the hard cold stone wall, without venturing to close her
eyes. In the morning she neither spoke to her mother nor prepared the
breakfast as was her custom, and kept her mouth more tightly closed
than ever.
When she had washed and dressed, and plaited her hair more carefully
than usual, she brought out the mule, saddled and bridled him; but to
her mother’s immense astonishment, instead of proceeding to load him
with vegetables, she just mounted and rode away in the direction of
Palene.
The mule trotted along merrily and quickly, but as it was still very
early, Lucia stopped him after a while and allowed him to graze, while
she got down and lay on the grass, resting her weary head on her hand
and gazing into the distance with her large brown eyes. Little by
little her pale face brightened, and began to lose the hard look it had
worn since the previous night. She even began to smile a little and
looked almost happy. At last some pleasant thought seemed to strike
her, for she actually laughed and blushed, and then getting up and
calling her mule, she went on her way.
In little more than half an hour she was again standing before Don
Ernano’s shop in the market-place.
“Ah, signorina, you are early indeed to-day,” he began; then glancing
at the unloaded mule, he went on, “you want the onions back, no doubt?
I was afraid Mother Ceprano——”
“I did not come about that,”replied Lucia abruptly, with an odd shy
smile. “I came to-day to ask your services as hair-dresser; you cut and
dress hair, I know. Will you be so good as to cut off my hair?”
“What, signorina!”cried the horrified barber, “cut off your beautiful
hair! No, you don’t mean it, I couldn’t have the heart!”
“Are you a barber, Don Ernano?” asked Lucia with the gravity and
firmness peculiar to her.
“Yes, it is on the sign-board, and I cut anybody’s hair when I am
asked, but—but—do you want to sell your beautiful plait?” he asked,
with quite a sad expression in his kind eyes.
“No, I don’t want to sell it, but I want it cut off, and I have come to
ask you to do it for me,” answered Lucia firmly and decidedly.
“Must I really?” said Don Ernano, feeling a little cast down by the
girl’s energetic tone and manner.
“Yes—you must—if you will,” was her rather odd answer, and therewith
she hurried into the shop.
“If you knew how it grieved me!” began the barber again. “Is it a vow,
signorina?”
“Something of the sort, but it is more than that to me,”was the short
answer.
“Then you have quite made up your mind?” he ventured to ask once more.
“Will you do it or will you not, Don Ernano?” asked Lucia as if she
were much offended and would leave the shop.
“Well—if it really must be done—please to sit down, signorina,” said
the barber, moving reluctantly to the cupboard in which he kept his
implements.
Just at this moment two men came into the shop, and said with a sly
glance at his fair customer, “You’re engaged, Don Ernano?”
“At your service in a moment, gentlemen,” he answered; then bending
over Lucia and taking her great plait, which was almost as thick as her
arm, in his hand, he said in a low tone, “You will have just a little
bit left?”
“No, cut it off close,”answered Lucia in a whisper.
Don Ernano gently put her head in the right position; and Lucia,
looking calmly and cheerfully into the little glass before her,
could see with what a dismal countenance the light-haired giant went
about his task, which was no such easy one, and took some minutes to
accomplish. It was done at last, however, and the barber held the
severed plait in his hands, his face wearing a very troubled expression.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” said Lucia, rising and bowing to the two
men; “good morning, Don Ernano!” and before he had recovered from his
astonishment, Lucia was out of the shop and trotting away on her mule,
leaving him to look after her and shake his head in perplexity, while
he still held the beautifully plaited tail of hair in his hands.
“A very pretty customer, signor!” said his visitors, who had not heard
all that had passed.
“A lovely girl,” answered Don Ernano thoughtfully, “but strange, very
strange, I can’t make her out.”
“Have you bought the plait?”they asked.
The barber shook his head gravely.
“What then?” they asked with curiosity.
“I don’t know,” was the short answer, as the barber made hurried
preparations for shaving his customers.
He was anything but nervous in a general way, but to-day his hand
trembled so much that he would certainly have performed his duties very
clumsily if he had not made a great effort to recover his self-command.
“What does it mean?” he muttered, when he found himself once more
alone. “What am I to do with it? I wonder whether it is a vow; I know
the women about here do make strange vows sometimes; but she is so
clever and sensible and not at all superstitious.”
Don Ernano thought over the affair for some time, but as he could
not arrive at any conclusion, he locked the plait of hair up in his
cupboard, and spent the next few hours in a rather uncomfortable state
of mind, feeling that he was involved against his will in a matter
which he did not understand.