Fra Gervasio began to speak very gently and softly.

"Your son, Madonna, has been lured into sin by a wanton woman," he
began, and there she interrupted him with a sudden and very piteous cry.

"Not that! Ah, not that!" she exclaimed, putting out hands gropingly
before her.

"That and more, Madonna," he answered gravely. "Be brave to hear the
rest. It is a very piteous story. But the founts of Divine Mercy are
inexhaustible, and Agostino shall drink therefrom when by penitence he
shall have cleansed his lips."

Very erect she stood there, silent and ghostly, her face looking
diaphanous by contrast with the black draperies that enshrouded her,
whilst her eyes were great pools of sorrow. Poor, poor mother! It is the
last recollection I have of her; for after that day we never met again,
and I would give ten years to purgatory if I might recall the last words
that passed between us.

As briefly as possible and ever thrusting into the foreground the
immensity of the snare that had been spread for me and the temptation
that had enmeshed me, Gervasio told her the story of my sin.

She heard him through in that immovable attitude, one hand pressed to
her heart, her poor pale lips moving now and again, but no sound coming
from them, her face a white mask of pain and horror.

When he had done, so wrought upon was I by the sorrow of that
countenance that I went forward again to fling myself upon my knees
before her.

"Mother, forgive!" I pleaded. And getting no answer I put up my hands to
take hers. "Mother!" I cried, and the tears were streaming down my face.

But she recoiled before me.

"Are you my child?" she asked in a voice of horror. "Are you the thing
that has grown out of that little child I vowed to chastity and to
God? Then has my sin overtaken me--the sin of bearing a son to Giovanni
d'Anguissola, that enemy of God!"

"Ah, mother, mother!" I cried again, thinking perhaps by that
all-powerful word to move her yet to pity and to gentleness.

"Madonna," cried Gervasio, "be merciful if you would look for mercy."

"He has falsified my vows," she answered stonily. "He was my votive
offering for the life of his impious father. I am punished for the
unworthiness of my offering and the unworthiness of the cause in which I
offered it. Accursed is the fruit of my womb!" She moaned, and sank her
head upon her breast.

"I will atone!" I cried, overwhelmed to see her so distraught.

She wrung her pale hands.

"