"It quivers!"
Ester, standing very erect behind Luisa, shook her head. The doctor put out the match. "Hot flannels," he ordered. Luisa rushed from the room, and the doctor once more resumed the movements of the arms. When Luisa returned with the hot flannels they began to rub the child's chest and bowels, he on one side, she on the other. Presently, noting Luisa's pallor, and the distortion of her features, he motioned to a girl to take her place. "You must give up," said he, for Luisa had made a protesting gesture. "Even I am tired. You cannot go on." Luisa shook her head without speaking and continued her work with convulsive energy. The doctor silently shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows, and gave his place to the girl, ordering Ester to bring more flannel with which to cover the child's legs. Ester went out and herself heated the flannel, for Veronica, on hearing what had happened, had disappeared and was nowhere to be found. In the corridor and on the stairs people were discussing the how and where of the event, and as Ester passed all inquired: "What news? What news?" Ester made a despairing gesture and went on without answering. Then the talk once more flowed on in an undertone.
No one knew how long the child had been in the water. While the thunderstorm had been raging a certain Toni Gall had happened to be in the stables behind Casa Ribera. Reflecting that if the engineer's boat was not tied fast enough it would be dashed to pieces against the walls of the boathouse, he bounded down the steps, and seeing the door open, went in. The boat was being frightfully knocked about, and was drenched with the splashing of the waves that broke against the walls. It was tossing and writhing among its chains, and had set itself crosswise, with the stern knocking against the wall. Opposite the door that opens from the road, there runs a gallery from which two flights of steps lead down to the water, the first on the side of the prow, the second on the side of the stern. Toni Gall went down the second flight to tighten the stern chain. There, between the boat and the lowest step, where the water is from sixty to seventy centimetres deep, he saw Maria's little body. She was floating face downwards, with her back above the water. As he drew her out he saw a little tin boat lying on the bottom. He carried the child to the house, crying out with his terrible voice, bringing the whole town to the spot, and fortunately the doctor also, who happened to be in Oria, and then he helped Ester undress the poor little creature, who gave no sign of life.
With whom had she been before going down to the lake? Not with Veronica, for before Luisa went out Veronica had been seen going into the storeroom where the flowerpots were kept, with her customs-guard. Nor had she been with Ester and the Professor. Ester had sent her to pray in the alcove-room, and had not seen her again. Cia had been sewing and Uncle Piero had been writing when they heard Toni Gall's shouts. Maria must have gone straight from the alcove-room to the boathouse to sail her boat, and as ill-luck would have it, she had found both the house door and the door of the boathouse open. It was Toni Gall's opinion that she had been in the water several minutes, for she was floating at some distance from the spot where the little tin boat lay. Standing in the hall where Cia, the engineer, the Professor, and others from the village were assembled, he was describing his frightful discovery for the hundredth time. All save Uncle Piero were sobbing. Seated on the sofa where Ester and the Professor had sat, he seemed turned to stone. He shed no tears and spoke never a word. Toni Gall's chattering was evidently annoying to him, but he held his peace. His noble countenance was rather solemn and grave than distressed. It was as if the shade of ancient Destiny had arisen before his eyes. He did not even ask for news; it was evident he was without hope. And it was also evident that his sorrow was very different from all this nervous, noisy, fleeting sorrow that surrounded him. His was the mute, calm grief of the wise and the strong.
From the open door of the alcove-room came voices now commanding, now questioning, but for an hour and a half no one could have asserted that they had heard Luisa's voice. From time to time half-frightened, almost happy exclamations were heard. Some one in there had thought they perceived a movement, a breath, the glow of life. Then all who were outside would press forward. Uncle Piero would turn his face towards the door, and only at such moments would his expression become slightly troubled. Alas! Each time he saw the others turn slowly away, in heartbroken silence. It was past five o'clock now, and as it continued to rain the light had begun to fade.
Finally, at half-past five, Luisa's voice was heard. She gave a loud and terrible cry, which froze the blood in the veins of all. The doctor's voice answered in accents of eager protest. It was whispered that he had made a gesture which said plainly: "It is hopeless now, let us desist," but at her cry he had once more renewed his efforts.
The monotonous lament that the fine rain sent in through all the open windows made the stillness of the house seem more sepulchral than ever. The hall and the corridor were growing dark, and the pale candle-light from the alcove-room seemed brilliant by contrast. People began to go away silently and on tiptoe, one shadow after another, and presently steps and hushed voices and the beat of heavy boots were heard on the pavement of the street below. Cia went softly towards her master, and asked him in a whisper if he would not eat something. He silenced her by an imperious gesture.
After seven o'clock, when all outsiders had left save Toni Gall, Ismaele, the Professor, Ester, and three or four women who were in the alcove-room, long, low groans, which seemed hardly human, broke the silence. The doctor came into the hall. It was now quite dark, and he knocked against a chair. "Is the engineer here?" he asked aloud. "Yes, sir," Toni Gall replied, and went for a candle. The engineer neither spoke nor moved.
Toni Gall soon returned with a candle and Dr. Aliprandi—whom I am happy to recall here as a frank and upright man, possessed of a fine intellect and a noble heart—approached the sofa where Uncle Piero sat.
"Engineer Ribera," said he with tears in his eyes, "it is time for you to do something now."