"Listen to me, carina," he said, gently unfolding her arms from his neck. His grave tone made her look up wonderingly at him, and he went on. "I want you to give me a reward for having brought you the Madonna. Will my little one give it to me?"
"Oh, signore!" and her little face was nestled on his shoulder.
"Then you will give it to me, carina. But I am going to ask a great deal. It is to promise that you will not fret very much if I tell you that something you love dearly is to be taken from you."
"But what is it, signore, that you are going to take from me? Not the Madonna?"
"Not the Madonna, certainly; but you have not given me the promise. Will you not be very good, and not cry too much?"
"Si, signore."
"Then, carissima, you must remember that promise when I tell you that I am going away to-day."
Alas for promises! Anina's answer was to burst out crying as though her little heart would break, and then through her sobs she murmured, "No, no, non va via il caro signore; he told me so yesterday?"
"Yes, carina, but afterwards I heard something which obliges me to go. This is not keeping your promise, my child. I hoped that your beautiful Madonna would console you, and I will come back some day, Anina mia, sia buona."
He put his arm round her waist and kissed her, but she hid her face on his shoulder, and sobbed so violently that he saw it was vain to attempt to quiet her now, and that all he could do was to take her home and leave her; time he knew would calm this violence of childish grief. With his disengaged hand he put the little temple into the box, and said, "Come, my child, take your Madonna, and let us go home." But Anina made no movement to take it, and he said, "Then you do not care for her. I may throw her into the sea."