On the table lay a quantity
of fragments of broken glass, and a silver photograph-frame bent,
almost broken. On the floor was scattered a litter of card-board.
"She came in here! Madre was in here--"
She bent down to the carpet, picked up some of the bits of card-board,
turned them over, looked at them. Then she began to tremble again.
"It's father's photograph!"
She was now utterly terrified.
"Oh, Gaspare! Oh, Gaspare!"
She began to sob.
"Hush, Signorina! Hush!"
He spoke almost sternly, bent down, collected the fragments of card-
board from the floor, and put them into his pocket.
"Father's photograph! She was in here--she came in here to do that!
And she loves that photograph. She loves it!"
"Hush, Signorina! Don't, Signorina--don't!"
"We must do something! We must--"
He made her sit down. He stood by her.
"What shall we do, Gaspare? What shall we do?"
She looked up at him, demanding counsel. She put out her hands again
and touched his arm. His Padroncina--she at least still loved, still
trusted him.
Pages:
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877