She answered calmly, and as if stating a perfectly obvious fact:
"I am afraid I shall not be able to leave Maria."
"Oh, come now!" Uncle Piero exclaimed. "Sit down over there," and he pointed to a bench in the chimney-corner opposite him. Then he said, in that serious, honest voice of his, which seemed to come from his heart:
"My dear Luisa, you have lost your bearings!"
And raising his arms, he uttered a long "Ah!" and then let them fall upon his knees once more.
"Lost your bearings completely!" he repeated. He sat silent for a time, his head bent, while behind his pursed lips there was the rumbling of words in course of formation, which presently burst forth.
"I would never have believed it! It does not seem possible! But when," and here he raised his head and looked Luisa straight in the face, "but when we once begin to lose our bearings it is all up with us. And you, my dear, began to lose yours a long time ago."
Luisa shuddered.
"Yes indeed!" Uncle Piero cried in a loud voice. "You began losing yours a long time ago. And now this is what I wish to say to you. Listen. My mother lost children, your mother lost children, I have seen many mothers lose children, but not one of them acted as you act. What can you expect? We are all mortal, and must adapt ourselves to our circumstances. Other mothers become resigned, but you do not. And this running two, three, and even four times a day to the cemetery! And the flowers, and I know not what all besides! Oh, dear me! And all that foolishness at Casarico with that other poor imbecile, which you think is such a secret, while every one is talking of it, even Cia. Oh, dear me!"
"No, uncle," said Luisa, sadly but calmly. "Don't talk of these things. You cannot understand them."