“Forgive....”
“Am I to forgive you for taking the Sacrament? Hasn’t your confessor told you that I ... absolve you?”
She bowed low. Then she drew herself up and looked round, wildly. She went away, bent and tottering, but returned almost immediately.
“I had forgotten to bid you good-bye, Alberto.”
She squeezed his hand.
“Think of me in church, my saint.”
“I will pray for you, Alberto.”
And she went away—tall, black, and stately.
III.
Night was closing in; in the December twilight the air had grown more chill. Under the lighted lamp Caterina sat writing to her cousin Giuditta at school, to invite her to spend next Sunday with her. The clock struck six. “Andrea is late,” thought Caterina; “I am glad I made him take his overcoat, the days are getting so cold.” She finished her letter and laid her hand on the bell. Giulietta appeared.