She took the branch, trembling, and her eyes were bright with tears.
"And you knew it was blooming!" said Stelio.
He perceived the glittering silvery drops in her eyes, which made them look like the petals of a flower. And at that instant, of all her adored person, he loved most blindly the delicate lines that went from the corners of her eyes to her temples, the tiny veins that made her eyelids look like violets, the sweet curve of her cheek, the tapering chin, and all that never would bloom again, all the shadows of that impassioned face.
"Ah, Father," said she, with a bright glance, repressing her sadness, "will not Christ's Poor Man weep again in heaven for this broken branch?"
The friar smiled with playful indulgence.
"When this good gentleman saw our tree," he replied, "he gave me no time to speak, but had the branch in his hand in a moment, and I could only say Amen. But the almond tree is rich."
He was placid and affable, with a crown of hair still nearly black, with a refined, olive-skinned face, and great tawny eyes, as clear as a topaz.
"Here is some savory thyme," he added, offering the herbs to La Foscarina.
They could hear a choir of youthful voices singing a Response.