Now it was empty. The whole room was empty. She heard sounds, sounds in Venice, sounds that she had never realised before. She heard the clock ticking and wondered why she had never heard that. She heard Claudina moving in the kitchen. She heard the voice of a gondolier singing on the canal. Presently, she rose to her feet and walked slowly to a drawer that had long been closed. Opening it, she took out some part of an old lace shawl, unfinished, where it had been laid from that moment when God had withered her hands and she was powerless to do her work. Bringing it with her, she came back to her chair; sat down and laid it on her lap. This was the only thing incomplete in her life. Memory became suddenly vivid as she looked at it. She almost remembered--perhaps pretended that she did recall--the last stitch where she had left off. And there, when she came in for her unfailing ceremony, Claudina found her, gazing towards the door with the unfinished lace shawl in her hands. The little white head moved quickly, the eyes lighted for one sudden moment of relief---- "Surely it’s after ten o’clock, Claudina," she said. And Claudina shook her head gravely. "No, signora. It wants some minutes yet. But I thought if Giovanino was gone, you ought to go to bed." They had prepared another little room for her to sleep in; but she insisted first upon going to see him once more. By the light of the altar lamp, she found her way to the bed. Without the sound of a cry, or the hesitation of those who are suddenly brought into the presence of Death, she lifted the sheet from his face. It was almost as though she had expected to find that he was asleep. For a little while, she stood there, looking quietly at the peacefulness of it all, then she bent over the bed. Claudina saw her whisper something in his ear. At the last, she crossed him with trembling finger, laid back the sheet upon his face and, without a sound, slowly turned away. In Claudina’s hands she was like a little child. Like a little child, she was undressed, like a little child put into her bed, the clothes pulled warmly round her, her beads given into her hand to hold. With candle lighted and held above her head, Claudina stood at the door before she went out. The tears rushed warmly to her eyes as she saw the white head alone upon the pillow, and thought of the silent figure they had just left in the other room. "_Buona notte, signora,_" she said as bravely as she could. "_Buona notte,_" replied the little old white-haired lady. At her accustomed hour of the morning, came Claudina into the little room. Feeling her way to the window, she threw open wide the jalousies. A flood of sunshine beat into the room and made all dazzling white. Claudina felt thankful for it. It was a new day. It was a wonderful day.