ook, Uncle!" she said. "Doctor, bring the candle! Yes, yes!
Don't be cruel, doctor. Look, Uncle! See what a little treasure she is,
doctor!"

Aliprandi hesitated, and tried to resist her appeals, but in this mad
grief there was something sacred, something that must be respected. He
obeyed, and raising the candle, held it close to the tiny corpse, that
was intensely pitiful with its half-open eyes and dilated pupils, this
little corpse that had once been Maria, sweet little Missipipi, the old
man's delight, the smile and the love of the house.

"Look at this tiny breast, Uncle. See how we have abused it, poor
treasure, how we have hurt it with all our rubbing. It was your mamma,
Maria darling! Your horrid mamma, and that wicked doctor there."

"Enough!" said the doctor resolutely, setting the candle on the
writing-desk. "Talk to your child if you will, but not to this one. Talk
to the one in Heaven."

The effect of his words was terrible. All tenderness vanished from
Luisa's face. She drew back, frowning fiercely, and pressing her dead
child closer to her breast. "No!" she cried aloud. "No, not in Heaven!
She is mine! She is mine! God is wicked! I will not give her to Him!"

She drew ever farther back, back into the alcove, where, standing
between the great bed and the little one, she once more began uttering
those low groans which did not seem human. Aliprandi sent the trembling
old man out of the room. "It will pass! It will pass!" he said. "We must
have patience. I will stay with her now." Ismaele came into the hall and
drew the Professor aside.

"Has Signor Don Franco been informed?" he asked.

They consulted the uncle and it was decided that a telegram in Uncle
Piero's name, and announcing serious illness, should be sent from Lugano
the next morning, for it was now too late. There was some one else in
the hall. Poor Barborin Pasotti, who had hastened thither while her
husband was absent escorting the Marchesa back to Cressogno. She was
sobbing, and in despair because she had given Maria the little boat. She
wished to go to Luisa, but the doctor, hearing loud crying, came out and
begged her to be calm and silent. Barborin went to cry in the loggia.
The Curate, Don Brazzova, and the Prefect of the Caravina, who had been
dining at Casa Pasotti, had accompanied Barborin. Later the Curate of
Castello, Intrioni, arrived, weeping like a child. He was determined to
go to Luisa in spite of the doctor's protests, and k