Donna Micaela did not own the “Legend of the Holy Virgin at Pompeii.” But she did not say so to Donna Elisa; she went to her book-shelf and took a little book, a collection of Sicilian love-songs, and gave it to Donna Elisa, who carried the little book over to Gaetano.
But Donna Micaela had no sooner done so before a lively regret seized her. And she asked herself what she had meant by behaving so,--she who had been helped by the little Christchild?
She blushed with shame as she thought that she had marked one of the little songs, one that ran thus:--
“For one single question’s answer longing, Night I asked, and asked the daytime’s burning; Watched the flight of birds, and swift clouds thronging, In water strove to read the hot lead’s turning; Leaves I counted plucked from many flowers, Lured dark prophets forth, and sought their powers, Till at last I called on Heaven above me: ‘Doth he love me still, as once he loved me?’”
She had hoped to get an answer to it. But it would serve her right if no answer came. It would serve her right if Gaetano despised her and thought her forward.
Yet she had meant no harm. The only thing she had desired had been to find out if Gaetano loved her.
Several weeks again passed and Donna Micaela still sat with Don Ferrante.
But one day Donna Elisa had tempted her out. “Come with me into my garden, sister-in-law, and see my big magnolia-tree. You have never seen anything so beautiful.”
She had gone with Donna Elisa across the street and had come into her court-yard. And Donna Elisa’s magnolia was like the shining sun, so that people were aware of it even before they saw it. At a great distance the fragrance lay and rocked in the air, and there was a murmuring of bees, and a twittering of birds.
When Donna Micaela saw the tree she could hardly breathe. It was very high and broad, with a beautifully even growth, and its large, firm leaves were of a fresh, dark green. But now it was entirely covered with great, bright flowers, that lighted and adorned it so that it looked as if dressed for a feast, and one felt an intoxicating joy streaming forth from the tree. Donna Micaela almost lost consciousness, and a new and irresistible power took possession of her. She drew down one of the stiff branches, and without breaking it spread out the flower that it bore, took a needle and began to prick letters on the flower leaf. “What are you doing, sister-in-law?” asked Donna Elisa.--“Nothing, nothing.”--“In my time young girls used to prick love-letters on the magnolia-blossoms.”--“Perhaps they do it still.”--“Take care; I shall look at what you have written when you are gone.”--“But you cannot read.”--“I have Gaetano.”--“And Luca; you had better ask Luca.”