“But he had made confessions that compelled them to sentence him.
“When they told him that he was to sit for twenty-nine years in prison, he had cried out: ‘Now may her will be done, who was just carried by. May I be as she wished!’
“And I saw no more of him,” said little Gandolfo, “for the guards placed him between them and led him away.
“But I, who heard him pray for those who had murdered his beloved, made a vow that I would do something for him.
“I vowed to recite a beautiful improvisation to San Sebastiano to induce him to help him. But I have not succeeded. I am no improvisatore; I could not.”
Here he broke off and threw himself down, weeping aloud before the image. “Forgive me that I could not,” he cried, “and help him in spite of it. You know that when they sentenced him I promised to do it for his sake that you might save him. But now I have not been able to speak of you, and you will not help him.”
Donna Micaela hardly knew how it happened, but she and little Rosalia, who loved Gandolfo, were beside him at almost the same moment. They drew him to them, and both kissed him, and said that no one had spoken like him; no one, no one. Did he not see that they were weeping? San Sebastiano was pleased with him. Donna Micaela put a ring on the boy’s finger and round about him the people were waving many-colored silk handkerchiefs, that glistened like waves of the sea in the strong light from the Cathedral.
“Viva Gaetano! viva Gandolfo!” cried the people.
And flowers and fruits and silk handkerchiefs and jewels came raining down about little Gandolfo. Donna Micaela was crowded away from him almost with violence. But it never occurred to her to be frightened. She stood among the surging people and wept. The tears streamed down her face, and she wept for joy that she could weep. That was the greatest blessing.