Her husband seized her by the arm, and pulled her down into her seat, fixing two flaming eyes upon her.
Meanwhile the boatman had returned with the sail. The poor woman writhed and sighed; tears stood in her eyes, and she cast despairing glances at the shore, but she was silent. The mast was raised, the two lower ends of the sail were made fast, and the boat was about to put out, when a voice bellowed from the portico--
"Hallo! Hallo! The Signor Controllore!" and out popped a big, rubicund priest, with a glorious belly, a large, black straw hat, a cigar in his mouth, and an umbrella under his arm.
"Oh! Curatone!" Pasotti exclaimed. "Well done! Are you invited to the dinner also? Are you coming to Cressogno with us?"
"If you will take me," the curate of Puria answered, going down towards the boat. "Well, I never! The Signora Barborin is here also."
The expression of his big face became supremely amiable, his great voice became su