“And you two children--alone--are going to walk all the way to Turin!” She could not get over the pitiful wonder of it.
“The heart-rending little waifs,” she said, in English, with something like a sob. Then, in Italian, “But--but how do you live by the way?”
The boy touched his shoulder-load of baskets.
The boy looked away; and now it was his turn to hang his head, and to let his toes work nervously in the dust.
“Haven't you sold any?” she exclaimed, drawing her conclusions.
“No, Excellency. The people would not buy,” he owned, in a dull voice, keeping his eyes down.
“Poverino,” she murmured. “Where are you going to sleep to-night?”
But that seemed to strike the Duchessa as somewhat vague.
“I do not know, Excellency,” he confessed. “We will find a house.”
“Would you like to come back with me, and sleep at my house?”
The boy and girl looked at each other, taking mute counsel.
Then, “Pardon, noble lady--with your Excellency's permission, is it far?” the boy questioned.
“I am afraid it is not very near--three or four kilometres.”
Again the children looked at each other, conferring. Afterwards, the boy shook his head.
“A thousand thanks, Excellency. With your permission, we must not turn back. We must walk on till later. At night we will find a house.”
“They are too proud to own that their house will be a hedge,” she said to Peter, again in English. “Aren't you hungry?” she asked the children.
“No, Excellency. We had bread in the village, below there,” answered the boy.
“You will not come home with me, and have a good dinner, and a good night's sleep?”
“Pardon, Excellency. With your favour, the father would not wish us to turn back.”
The little girl wore a medal of the Immaculate Conception on a ribbon round her neck--a forlorn blue ribbon, soiled and frayed.
“Oh, you have a holy medal,” said the Duchessa.
“Yes, noble lady,” said the girl, dropping a courtesy, and lifting up her sad little weazened face.
“She has been saying her prayers all along the road,” the boy volunteered.
“That is right,” approved the Duchessa. “You have not made your First Communion yet, have you?”
“No, Excellency,” said the girl. “I shall make it next year.”
“I made mine at Corpus Christi,” said the boy, with a touch of pride.