Bartolo entered, grumbling about a lost goat, but his nose quickly caught the scent of the feast. "A fine bird you have there, Madonna," he said, eyeing the table. Just then, a muffled, wheezing sneeze erupted from the pantry. "What was that?" Bartolo demanded, reaching for his mallet.

"See!" Isabella cried. "It even prays in the ancient tongue! It is a sign you must leave a coin for the poor-box and go home at once, before its silence breaks and it marks you as a sinner."

Isabella didn't blink. "That? Oh, that is the . It was sent to me from a monastery in the north. It is a miraculous bird that only crows when a man of ill-intent enters the house. It has been silent all evening, which proves you are a good man, Bartolo—though it does have a bit of a chest cold from the mountain air."