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"But I like it, I love it!" said Vere. "Don't you?--don't you, Madre?"
Before Hermione could reply the Marchesino exclaimed:
"Signorina, in the breast of an angel you have the heart of a lion!
The sea will never harm you. How could it? It will treat you as it
treats the Saint of your pool, San Francesco. You know what the
sailors and the fishermen say? In the wildest storms, when the sea
crashes upon the rocks, never, never does it touch San Francesco.
Never does it put out the lamp that burns at San Francesco's feet."
"Yes, I have heard them say that," Vere said.
Suddenly her face had become serious. The romance in the belief of the
seamen had got hold of her, had touched her. The compliment to herself
she ignored. Indeed, she had already forgotten it.
"Only the other night--" she began.
But she stopped suddenly.
"You know," she said, changing to something else, "that when the
fishermen pass under San Francesco's pedestal they bend down, and lift
a little water from the sea, and sprinkle it into the boat, and make
the sign of the cross.


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