"What is the matter, mamma?" Nino cried out in his musical Italian, running across the room to stand by her knee.
He took one of her hands in his, stroking it softly and looking up into her face with pity and wonder.
"I am going away, Nino," she said, speaking with a mighty effort. "You must be a good boy and always mind and love papa. And, oh!" she cried, her self-control breaking down, "love me too, Nino; love me, love me."
She clasped her arms convulsively about his neck, but she choked the first sob that rose in her throat. She did not dare give way. She instinctively knew that she needed all her strength to carry her through what she had undertaken. She kissed the startled child with burning fervor. She drew him into her lap and held him close to her. Her very lips were white.
"Nino," she said, "can you remember something to say to papa?"
"Oh, yes," he answered. "I am quite old enough for that. Don't you remember how I repeated",—
"'Questo domanda del pan;
Questo dise, no ghe n'e;
Questo dise come faremo;
Quell' altro dise; rubaremo;
Il mignolo dise; chi ruba 'mpicca, 'mpicca!'"
It was a folk rhyme she had taught him to say, telling off his chubby fingers one by one; and she remembered how proud the boy had been when he had repeated it to his father. Her mouth twitched convulsively, but she went on steadily.
"You remembered it beautifully, Nino," she said, "and you are to say to papa, 'Mamma has gone away to Italy for my sake, and she leaves you her love.' Say it over, Nino."
"'Mamma has gone away to Italy for my sake,'" repeated the child. "But, mamma," he broke in, "I don't want you to go."