"Perhaps you are not aware," said Maria Dolores, "that when people are drowned they die?"
"Oh, yes, I know that," said Annunziata. "But"—she raised calm pellucid eyes—"wouldn't you like to die?"
"Certainly not," said Maria Dolores, a shadow on her face.
"I would," said Annunziata, stoutly. "It must be lovely to die."
"Hush," Maria Dolores rebuked her, frowning. "You must not say such things."
"Why not say them, if you think them?" asked Annunziata.
"You mustn't think them either," said Maria Dolores.
"Oh, I can't help thinking them," said Annunziata, with a movement. "It surely must be lovely to die and go to Heaven. If I were perfectly sure I should go to Heaven, I would shut my eyes and die now. But I should probably have to wait some time in Purgatory. And, of course, I might go to Hell."
Maria Dolores' face was full of trouble. "You must not talk like that," she said. "You must not. It is wicked of you."
"Then, if I am wicked, I should go to Hell?" inquired Annunziata, looking alertly up.