Annunziata started and looked up. "Sh-h!" she whispered, with an
admonitory gesture. She stole a wary glance roundabout, and then spoke
as one fearful of being overheard. "I was listening to the music of
Divopan," she said.

Maria Dolores, who had come closer, appeared at a loss. "The music
of--what?" she questioned.

"Sh-h!" whispered Annunziata. "I would not dare to say it aloud. The
music of Divopan."

"Divopan?" Maria Dolores puzzled, compliantly guarding her tone. "What
is that?"

"Divo--Pan," said Annunziata, dividing the word in two, and always with
an air of excessive caution.

But Maria Dolores helplessly shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't
understand. What is Divo--Pan?"

"Don't you know what a _divo_ is?" asked Annunziata, her clear grey eyes
surprised.

"Oh, a _divo?_" said Maria Dolores, getting a glimmer of light. "Ah,
yes, a divo is a saint, I think?

"Not exactly," Annunziata discriminated, "but something like one. The
saints, you see, are always very good, and _divi_ are sometimes bad.
But they are powerful, like saints. They can do anything they wish. Divo