"Who were they, Marta?" Pappina interrupted her, "friends of your Countess Filota?"
Marta was too deep in her memories to be amused at the child's question.
"No, no, carina. They were great poets. I wish you might—" She left the sentence unfinished, for glancing toward Guiseppe, plodding ahead, she noticed something queer in his gait. She ran forward, calling: "Guiseppe! What's the matter, Guiseppe?"
Guiseppe turned at the call and stopped, facing them. As they drew near, Marta saw that he was breathing hard and that his face was drawn and white.
"I'm not well, Marta," he gasped as they reached him. "My legs and breath shouldn't give out like this. It won't do. I tell you. I'm not well."
He flung himself down on the ground. This was the first complaint of illness Marta had ever heard him make. She was alarmed, and she showed it. Guiseppe reassured her.
"We'll stop at the Valley of Pompeii. We'll go to the church Santa Maria dell Rosario [Saint Mary of the Rosary]. It will do us all good to pray. The blessed Virgin makes the blind see and the lame walk. She cured Genario's boy who had been sick two years. She'll make me well."
He crossed himself, and lay back, closing his eyes. Marta and Pappina sat watching the sick man. For some time he lay as though sleeping, then suddenly he sat up.
"Marta," he cried, "we need food. I can't move on to–night. Go, bring us something."
Marta hesitated a moment, wondering if it were best to leave him. He commanded her again to go for food.