They knew she had gone to live away on the moors; where, they were not sure; it was a matter of indifference. They had got the money, and had torn each other well-nigh to pieces over it; they were readier to forget her than to recall her. If she had come back she might have demanded some clear account of their alleged claims, and to satisfy her would have been awkward. The landlord, or rather his steward, for the landlord was a gay noble, far away, came and looked about the house, and affirmed that he had a title to a year's rental, and sold the sticks of furniture, and the pots and pans, the mattress on which Joconda had lain every night till she had slept on it her last sleep, and the porridge-pot from which she had given the child of Saturnino her first bit and sup.
The landlord was far away; the steward pocketed the proceeds of the sale, though Joconda had paid her rent beforehand, as every tenant does in Italy; and he took credit to himself, as he conversed with the people, that he did not find the girl out, and make her render him up the mule. So an honest life went out under the smirch of calumny, as a sweet-smelling pine-cone goes
