"Have you been at the pantomime," she continued earnestly, "when there
was what they call a transformation-scene?"

"Yes," said John.

"Well," said she, "last winter I was taken to the pantomime at Bergamo,
and I saw a transformation-scene. You ask me, what is Death? It is
exactly like a transformation-scene. At the pantomime the scene was just
like the world. There were trees, and houses, and people, common people,
like any one. Then suddenly click! Oh, it was wonderful. Everything was
changed. The trees had leaves of gold and silver, and the houses were
like fairy palaces, and there were strange lights, red and blue, and
there were great garlands of the most beautiful flowers, and the people
were like angels, with gems and shining clothes. Well, you understand,
at first we had only seen one side of the scene;--then click! everything
was turned round, and we saw the other side. That is like life and
death. Always, while we are alive, we can see only one side of things.
But there is the other side, the under side. Never, so long as we are
alive, we can never, never see it. But when we die,--click! It is a
transformation-scene. Everything is turned round, and we see the other
side. Oh, it will be very different, it will be wonderful. That is what
they call Death."

It was John's turn to be grave. It was some time before he spoke. He
looked down at her, with a kind of grave laughter in his eyes, admiring,
considering. What could he say? ... What he did say, at last, was
simply, "Thank you, my dear."

Annunziata jumped up.