". . . When, at the door, A tap: we started up: you know the rest." Pietro had done no harm; Violante had erred in telling the lie about her birth--certainly that was wrong, but it was done with love in it, and even the giving her to Guido had had love in it . . . and at any rate it is all over now, and Pompilia has just been absolved, and thus there "seems not so much pain": "Being right now, I am happy and colour things. Yes, everybody that leaves life sees all Softened and bettered; so with other sights: _To me at least was never evening yet_ _But seemed far beautifuller than its day_,[158:1] For past is past." Then she falls to thinking of that real mother, who had sold her before she was born. Violante had told her of it when she came back from the nuns, and was waiting for her boy to come. That mother died at her birth: "I shall believe she hoped in her poor heart That I at least might try be good and pure . . . And oh, my mother, it all came to this?" Now she too is dying, and leaving her little one behind. But _she_ is leaving him "outright to God": "All human plans and projects come to nought: My life, and what I know of other lives Prove that: no plan nor project! God shall care!" She will lay him with God. And her last breath, for gratitude, shall spend itself in showing, now that they will really listen and not say "he was your lover" . . . her last breath shall disperse the stain around the name of Caponsacchi. ". . . There, Strength comes already with the utterance!" * * * * * Now she tells what we know; some of it we have learnt already from her lips. She goes back over the years in "that fell house of hate"; then, the seeing of him at the theatre, the persecution with the false letters, the Annunciation-morning, the summons to him, the meeting, the escape: "No pause i' the leading and the light! * * * * * And this man, men call sinner? Jesus Christ!" But once more, mother-like, she reverts to her boy: ". . . We poor Weak souls, how we endeavour to be strong! I was already using up my life-- This portion, now, should do him such a good, This other go to keep off such an ill. The great life: see, a breath, and it is gone!" Still, all will be well: "Let us leave God alone." And now she will "withdraw from earth and man to her own soul," will "compose herself for God" . . . but even as she speaks, the flood of gratitude to her one friend again sweeps back, and she exclaims, "Well, and there is more! Yes, my end of breath Shall bear away my soul in being true![159:1] He is still here, not outside with the world, Here, here, I have him in his rightful place! * * * * *