"Go and ask him if he still has the rezetta which I gave him the day we left this. Beg him to let me look at it."
The old woman promised and Olì got up. She shook all over, and yawned so wide that her jaws cracked.
That night she was light-headed, her temperature very high. Now and then she demanded the rezetta, and grumbled childishly because Aunt Grathia, who lay beside her, would not ask Anania for it.
In her delirium a doubt crossed her mind; if Anania were not her son? Surely, he was not her son! he was too cruel, too unfeeling. She had been tormented all her life by all the people she had known; now, she could not believe that her son could torture her more even than the rest.
Still delirious, she told Aunt Grathia of the little packet she had tied round Anania's neck, that she might recognize him when he should be grown up and well-to-do.
"I meant to go to him some day when I should be very old and walking with a stick. Rat-tat-tat! I should knock at his door, and say, 'I am Most Holy Mary disguised as a beggar.' My son's servants would laugh and call their master. 'Old woman, what do you want?' 'Sir, I know you have a little packet, like this and this—I know who gave it to you.' To-day you have all these tancas and servants and cattle, but you owe them all to that poor soul who is now reduced to seven little ounces of dust. Good-bye. Give me a slice of bread and some honey. And forgive that poor soul.' 'Servants,' he would say, 'cross yourselves. This old woman who knows everything is Most Holy Mary.' Ah! ah! ah! The rezetta! I want the rezetta. That man is not my son! The rezetta! The rezetta!"
When it was light. Aunt Grathia went to Anania and told him what Olì had said.
"That's the one thing wanting," he said smiling bitterly, "that she should doubt me! I'll soon prove to her that I am—myself."
"Son, don't be unnatural. Content her at least in this one small matter."
"But I haven't got the thing. I threw it away. If I can find it again, I'll send it."