"Well," she said, in a deep masculine voice, "and what becomes of this one?"
"That is a hard question, Mariuccia," Hans replied. "There is nobody who wants her, except we poor devils of artists who have nowhere to put her—and the Signor Console told us we had better take her to the Pietá."
He had turned and looked out of the window as he spoke, and Carl followed his example. Neither cared to meet the woman's glance; they both knew how she loved the child.
Mariuccia's brows met in a dark line and her eyes flashed angrily. "A fine piece of advice," she cried. "That consul is an animal, without heart. The Pietá indeed, for my poor padrone's child! Is there no good lady who will take her and bring her up properly? Signor Brockmann of good memory was a gentleman—though he had no money, poverino, and this bit of sugar should be taken care of like a signorina."
"What can we do, Mariuccia?" Hans exclaimed. "All that you say is true, but there are no relations—and we and the other boys are not married—it will have to be the Pietá, I am afraid."
Mariuccia pondered, looking down at the small fluffy head on her shoulder. At last she spoke. "Give her to me. I will take her to my brother at Castel Gandolfo. His wife is a good woman. They have six children—one more will make no difference. And there is at least bread for all, and wine, and salad in the garden. She will do well there."
"That is splendid," cried Hans. "Bravo, Mariuccia. We will send some money for her whenever we can, and she will be happy with you."
"I shall not stay in the country," Mariuccia replied. "I have to earn my living. I must find another place, here in Rome. If the Signori can help me to do that I shall be glad. But I shall get to see Giannella sometimes, and when she grows big you signorini must manage to have her go to school. You are good boys—the Madonna will help you to sell your beautiful pictures—and then I will come and remind you of Giannella. For she is a lady. She cannot grow up to gather chestnuts and work in the fields. She must be instructed, like her poor papa."
This was a long speech for Mariuccia, who was a rather saturnine person generally. Evidently she had taken the matter deeply to heart, and her solution seemed such a satisfactory one that the young men were only too thankful to accept it.
So the studio was cleared out and the landlord took the key and some of the properties in lieu of rent due; a few feminine belongings left behind by poor Mrs. Brockmann were packed away by Mariuccia to be kept for Giannella; a coat and a pair of boots, almost all that had not been sold during the artist's illness to provide necessaries, she begged for as a propitiatory offering to her brother. Then the two young men went back to their work, their hard, cheery lives, and trusty comrades; and in a few hours they had managed to throw off the effects of the tragedy which had absorbed them for the last ten days, for, thank Heaven, the "Donna" had taken charge of the baby.