They sat down near the church and watched the crowds of pilgrims going in and coming out. For a long time there was silence.
"So long ago," murmured Marta.
"Yes," answered Pappina, "he's been praying hours, hasn't he?"
"I was not speaking of Guiseppe, Pappina, but of my life so long ago, when I was maid to the Countess Filota. We took this same trip, but we rode in carriages. We did not come to this church. We stopped at the ruins of Pompeii."
"Where are they, Marta?"
"There, carina. You can see them dimly in the distance," she said, pointing toward them, "perhaps half a mile from here. How I should like to see them again! I wish we had time to go."
The woman was silent. She seemed to be dreaming of by–gone days. Pappina waited for a time for Marta to speak, then she gently laid her hand on that of her friend, saying: "Go on Marta, tell me about them."
"You are such a child, carina. You wish to know about the ruins? Every one who visits Italy comes to Vesuvius and Pompeii—Vesuvius the mountain, and Pompeii the city that once waked and slept at the foot of the mountain. One day the sky grew dark, completely hidden by the volumes of smoke that rose like a huge pine tree from Vesuvius. The stones, lava and ashes entirely buried the city and the people, and now when men dig in the ruins they find—"
"I'm well, Marta! I'm well, Pappina! Praise the Santa Maria del Rosario! Come."
It was Guiseppe who was hurrying toward them. He led the way to a spot a short distance from the church. He set up the Punchinellos; the light of money hunger again burned in his eyes, and until the worshipers thinned out he kept playing the puppets at intervals between Pappina's songs and dances. In the good spirits due to the miracles performed in the healing, the healed gave generously to the showman.