'Yes, dear—dear,' he stammered; 'wherever you like—at once.'
'To the country—far off,' the poor thing whispered, 'where one sees no ghosts in fever, where there are no shadows nor frightful spectres.'
'What do you say?' said he, surprised.
'Nothing; take me away to the country, to greenness and peace with your mother ... before God.'
'Oh dear, dear!' He could say nothing else, this great man, in the supreme emotion, the sweetness of the idyll.
'Far away take me,' she still whispered, looking at him with great, good eyes.
Alone, very sweetly and modestly, they spoke of love without using words.
CHAPTER X
MAY AND SAN GENNARO'S MIRACLE