And then, whether the phrase touched her, so that her simple little nature
was roused and she shook off what self-control she had ever learnt, or
whether she felt secure enough in my protection to dare proclaim her mind
before them all, she caught my hand, and, stooping, kissed it.

"0 Madonnino!" she faltered, and her tears showered upon that hand of mine.
"God reward you your sweet thought for me. I shall pray for you,
Madonnino."

"Do, Luisina," said I. "I begin to think I need it."

"Indeed, indeed!" said my mother very sombrely. And as she spoke, Luisina,
as if her fears were reawakened, turned suddenly and went quickly along the
terrace, past Rinolfo, who in that moment smiled viciously, and round the
angle of the wall.

"What...what are my orders, Madonna?" quoth the wretched seneschal,
reminding her that all had not yet been resolved.

She lowered her eyes to the ground, and folded her hands. She was by now
quite composed again, her habitual sorrowful self.

"Let be," she said. "Let the wench depart. So that she goes we may count
ourselves fortunate."

"Fortunate, I think, is she," said I. "Fortunate to return to the world
beyond all this--the world of life and love that God made and that St.
Francis praises. I do not think he would have praised Mondolfo, for I
greatly doubt that God had a hand in making it as it is to-day. It is
too...too arid."