Lucia, who was busy helping Sister Francesca put away the clean sheets, dropped what she was doing and ran down the corridor.
"What is it!" she demanded. "Have the Austrians surrendered?"
"No," Maria stopped, breathless from her haste, "that is, not yet, though Roderigo says—"
"Oh, oh, oh!" Lucia protested. "Don't start on what Roderigo says, or we will never learn the news."
Maria pouted. "For that I have a good mind not to tell you," she threatened.
"Then I shall go downstairs myself and find out," Lucia replied, not one whit disturbed.
"Then I may as well tell you," Maria laughed, "for the ward hums with it. The King is coming—think of it—he is coming to Cellino to-morrow, and he is to go through the hospital and see all the wounded. Only fancy, our King!"
"Who told you?" Lucia's eyes flashed excitedly. Her loyal little Italian heart beat with eager anticipation.
"Do you suppose I can see him?" she demanded, "but of course, I must, even if I have to hide under the Captain's bed. He is sure to stop and speak to my Captain," she added with pride.
"Oh, Roderigo says that he always stops and speaks to all the wounded and shakes their hands, and is very kind and so sorry always when they are badly hurt. Roderigo says he has talked to soldiers who have won decorations, and the King himself pins them on—just think of it!"