"You can kiss her hair," said she, "but not her face. The doctor does not wish it."
"But you have just done so!"
"Oh, it is a different thing for me."
But instead he pressed his lips to her icy lips, that showed among the geraniums and the carob leaves, touching them gently, as in a tender, but not despairing farewell to the outward wrapping now cast aside and empty, which had once belonged to his beloved baby, who had gone to dwell elsewhere.
"Maria! My darling Maria!" he whispered between his sobs. "What was the matter?"
He had not realised the connection between the guards' talk about drowning and the rest of their conversation.
"You have not heard?" said his wife calmly, and without surprise. They had told her how the telegram had been worded, but she was also aware that Ismaele was to have met Franco in Lugano. She did not know, however, that as Franco had not arrived by the coach from Ceneri, Ismaele had gone to bed.
"Poor Franco!" said she, kissing his hair almost maternally. "There was no illness."
He started to his feet, terrified, and exclaiming: "What do you mean? There was no illness?"
Leu, the person whom Franco had heard breathing heavily in her sleep, now came in with the intention of fumigating the room, but seeing Franco she stopped in amazement. "Come in," said Luisa. "You may place the brazier outside the door; sprinkle whatever is necessary upon it, and then return to the kitchen and sleep, my good Leu." The woman obeyed.