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"One evening ... I stood at my window over the square; two young men sitting on the deserted, grassy steps of the church, joking under the great lantern . . .; the first firefly I have seen this year appeared, one of them got up and . . . threw it down, and went back—meanwhile the coachman's daughter rising from supper and leaning out of the window to wash a plate called out . . .: 'Tonight it really will rain—what a night it is!—black as your hat,' and soon after, the light at the window was put out ... I heard a gentle voice, of a woman I did not know and could not see—'Natalino, come on, it's late.' 'For God's sake, it's not dawn yet,' he replied, etc. I heard a child . . . babbling and stammering in a laughing, milky voice . . . The merriment increased, 'Isn't there some more wine at Girolamo's?' . . . and the woman laughing gently, 'Oh, what madmen!' . . . and now and again patiently and laughingly asked them to come away, but in vain, etc. At last a voice, 'Ah, here's the rain!' And a light spring rain, and all of them went in, and I heard the sound of doors and bolts."