cistern to get a glass of water. The Italian maid, her eyes bulging with
fright, leaned over the poor woman, petting her:

"_Poverina! Poverina!... Coraggio_!" The invalid, rallying from her
swoon, opened her eyes and gazed vacantly at the stranger, not
understanding her words but guessing their kindly intention.

The lady stepped out to the _plazoleta_, deeply moved, it seemed, by
what she had been witnessing. Rafael followed, with affected
absent-mindedness, somewhat ashamed of his insistence, yet at the same
time looking for an opportunity to renew their conversation.

On finding herself once more in the presence of that wonderful panorama,
where the eye ran unobstructed to the very limit of the horizon, the
charming creature seemed to breathe more freely.

"Good God!" she exclaimed, as if speaking to herself. "How sad and yet
how wonderful! This view is ever so beautiful. But that woman!... That
poor woman!"

"She's been that way for years, to my personal knowledge," Rafael
remarked, pretending to have known the invalid for a long time, though
he had scarcely ever deigned to notice her before. "Our peasants are
queer people. They despise doctors, and refuse their help, preferring to
kill themselves with these barbarous prayers and devotions, which they
expect will do them good."

"But they may be right, after all!" the lady replied. "Disease is often
incurable, and science can do for it about as much as faith--sometimes,
even less.... But here we are laughing and enjoying ourselves while