“When did you leave Bergamo?”
“Yesterday morning, Excellency.”
“The little girl is your sister?”
“Yes, Excellency.”
“Have you a mother and father?”
“A father, Excellency. The mother is dead.” Each of the children made the Sign of the Cross; and Peter was somewhat surprised, no doubt, to see the Duchessa do likewise. He had yet to learn the beautiful custom of that pious Lombard land, whereby, when the Dead are mentioned, you make the Sign of the Cross, and, pausing reverently for a moment, say in silence the traditional prayer of the Church:
“May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the Mercy of God, rest in peace.”
“And where is your father?” the Duchessa asked.
“In Turin, Excellency,” answered the boy. “He is a glass-blower. After the strike at Bergamo, he went to Turin to seek work. Now he has found it. So he has sent for us to come to him.”
“And you two children—alone—are going to walk all the way to Turin!” She could not get over the pitiful wonder of it.