And for that reason Donna Micaela never had a word of answer from him.
Finally she wrote to the director of the prison and asked if Gaetano was still alive. He answered that the prisoner she asked about never read a letter. He had asked to be spared all communications from the outside world.
So she wrote no more. Instead she continued to work for her railway. She hardly dared to speak of it in Diamante, but nevertheless she thought of nothing else. She herself sewed and embroidered, and she had all her servants make little cheap things that she could sell at her bazaar. In the shop she looked up old wares for the tombola. She had Piero, the gate-keeper, prepare colored lanterns; she persuaded her father to paint signs and placards; and she had her maid, Lucia, who was from Capri, arrange coral necklaces and shell boxes.
She was not at all sure that even one person would come to her entertainment. Every one was against her; no one would help her. They did not even like her to show herself on the streets or to talk business. It was not fitting for a well-born lady.
Old Fra Felice tried to assist her, for he loved her because she had helped him with the image.
One day, when Donna Micaela was lamenting that she could not persuade any one that the people ought to build the railway, he lifted his cap from his head and pointed to his bald temples.
“Look at me, Donna Micaela,” he said. “So bald will that railway make your head if you go on as you have begun.”
“What do you mean, Fra Felice?”
“Donna Micaela,” said the old man, “would it not be folly to start on a dangerous undertaking without having a friend and helper?”