opposed him. “May God accompany you!” they said to him. “Look out for the path through the forest. A fair journey to you, little Italian!” A man went with him outside of the town, pointed out to him the road, gave him some counsel, and stood still to watch him start. At the end of a few minutes, the lad disappeared, limping, with his bag on his shoulders, behind the thick of trees which lined the road.
That night was a dreadful one for the poor sick woman. She suffered cruel pain, which wrung from her shrieks that were enough to burst her veins, and rendered her delirious at times. The women waited on her. She lost her head. Her mistress ran in, from time to time, in affright. All began to fear that, even if she had decided to allow herself to be operated on, the doctor, who was not to come until the next day, would have arrived too late. During the moments when she was not raving, however, it was evident that her most terrible torture arose not from her bodily pains, but from the thought of her distant family. Emaciated, wasted away, with changed visage, she thrust her hands through her hair, with a gesture of desperation, and shrieked:—
“My God! My God! To die so far away, to die without seeing them again! My poor children, who will be left without a mother, my poor little creatures, my poor darlings! My Marco, who is still so small! only as tall as this, and so good and affectionate! You do not know what a boy he was! If you only knew, signora! I could not tear him from my neck when I set out; he wept in a way to move your pity; he sobbed; it seemed as though he knew that he would
