Alternately a ray of light and a bar of shadow fell across his tonsure and his tunic.
"He gave me a piece of the sacred pine," said Stelio. "I will send it to Sofia, who is devoted to the seraphic saint. Here it is. It has no resinous odor now. Smell it!"
For Sofia's sake she kissed the relic. The lips of the good sister would touch the spot where she had pressed her own.
"Yes—send it."
Silently they strolled along, their heads bent, in the footsteps of the man of peace, approaching the landing between the rows of cypress trees.
"Do you not sometimes wish to see her again?" asked La Foscarina, with a touch of shyness.
"Yes, very much," was Stelio's soft-spoken answer.
"And your mother?"
"Yes, my heart yearns for her—for that mother who looks for me each day."