"Oh, Pilade! Oh, carissimo!" She abandoned herself to joy.
"You are the angel, the miracle! You are—"
"No, no, I am not an angel; but oh, I love you, dearly!"
"Ah, la Madonna!"
"I am Ippolita! I love you!"
"You love me? You are mine then—come."
"Andrea," said Castracane next morning, "I think the others will be back before noon. You must wait here till they come. I am going to take Silvestro over La Venda to see my mother, and confess to our curate. It is good for the soul."
"Silvestro looks well this morning," said Andrea, with his mouth full of bread. "What a colour of dawn! What shining eyes! He would make a proper Madonna for a Mystery—eh?"
"He would," said Castracane laconically; "a most proper Madonna. With a Bambino on his lap—eh, Silvestro."
Silvestro blushed; Castracane pinched his cheek, which made matters worse.