“Give it to me amicably, Donna Elisa,” said the man, “otherwise, by God, I will take it in spite of you. I will hack it to small pieces, to small, small pieces. You shall see how much there will be left of your wooden doll. You shall see if it can withstand the black Madonna.”
Donna Elisa pressed against the mountain wall; she saw no escape. She could not run, and she could not struggle. “Micaela!” she wailed, “Micaela!”
Donna Micaela was very pale. She held her hands against her heart, as she always did when anything agitated her. It was terrible to her to stand opposed to those dark men. These were they of the slouch hats and short cloaks of whom she had always been afraid.
But now, when Donna Elisa appealed to her, she turned quickly, seized the image and held it out to the man.
“See here, take it!” she said defiantly. And she took a step towards him. “Take it, and do with it what you can!”
She held the image on her outstretched arms, and came nearer and nearer to the dark workman.
He turned towards his comrades. “She does not believe that I can do anything to the doll,” he said, and laughed at her. And the whole group of workmen slapped themselves on the knee and laughed.
But he did not take the image; he grasped instead the big pick-axe, which he held in his hand. He drew back a few steps, lifted the pick over his head, and stiffened his whole body for a blow which was to crush at once the entire hated wooden doll.
Donna Micaela shook her head warningly. “You cannot do it,” she said, and she did not draw the image back.