In the evening, seated before his door, he talked of religion.
At half-past eleven, the Selvas and Noemi accompanied by the innkeeper's wife--a fine, big woman, very neat, very simple, and gay in a quiet way--went to visit Sant' Andrea, the church of Jenne.

Coming out into the open square from the maze of narrow lanes, where stands the inn, they found a large assemblage of women, strangers, so the hostess said.
She could distinguish them by their corselets, their fustian skirts, their foot-gear.

Those were from Trevi, those from Filettino, and those others from Vallepietra.

The hostess went into a bakehouse on the right of the church, where several women of Jenne were having their _stiacciati_ [1] baked, each having brought her own.
[Footnote 1: _Stiacciati_ a sort of very large, round cake, common in all parts of Italy.

It is made of cornflour, of wheatflour, or of chestnut-flour, and in some places of vegetables.