"Go on if you like," said she, resolved to walk along beside the litter. "I have only a few words to say."
If Pasotti and the old Marchesa had anticipated tears and supplications this fierce glance and ringing voice must now have led them to expect something quite different.
"Words at present?" said Pasotti, coming forward almost threateningly.
"Sciora Luisa! Sciora Luisa!" a voice cried close at hand in a tone of anguish, while with the cries was mingled the noise of hastening steps. But Luisa did not appear to hear anything. "Yes, at present!" she said, addressing Pasotti with indescribable haughtiness. "I am generous enough to wish to warn this lady that——"
"Sciora Luisa!"
This time she was forced to pause and look round. Three or four women were upon her, distraught, dishevelled, sobbing: "Come home at once! Come home at once!" These faces, these tears, these voices, detached her from her passion, from her purpose, at one blow.
She rushed in among the women, exclaiming: "What is the matter?" and they could only repeat, their eyes starting from their heads: "Come home, come home at once!"
"But what has happened, you stupid things?"
"The child, the child!"
"Maria? Maria? What is it, what is it?" she shrieked like a mad woman. Amidst their sobbing she caught the word lake, and uttering a great cry, she dashed them out of her path like a wild beast, and rushed up the stairs. The women could not keep up with her, but on the church-place there were others waiting in spite of the rain, and they were also crying and sobbing.