“I wish I had,” said Giannita, “but I am only a poor girl.”
It was wonderful to see how the features of the young signorina’s face softened; how her color came back and how her eyes began to shine. Now it was plain that she had great beauty.
“Giannita,” she said, low and scarcely audibly, “do you think that it is a miracle? Do you think that God can let a miracle come to pass for my sake?”
“Yes, yes,” whispered Giannita back.
“I prayed the Christchild that he should help me, and he sends you to me. Do you think that it was the Christchild who sent you, Giannita?”
“Yes, it was; it was!”
“Then God has not forsaken me, Giannita?”
“No, God has not forsaken you.”
The god-sisters sat and wept for a while. It was quite quiet in the room. “When you came, Giannita, I thought that nothing was left me but to kill myself,” she said at last. “I did not know where to turn, and God hated me.”
“But tell me now what I can do for you, god-sister,” said Giannita.