While he lay there he thought that he shrank together more and more. Every time he awoke he thought that he had grown smaller. He felt as if he were quite disappearing. Now he could certainly wind his cloak four times about him. He would have died quite by himself if Donna Elisa had not come to ask help for the blind of the little image. She was in a strange mood when she came, for she wished of course to get help for the blind, but yet she did not wish Donna Micaela’s plans to be promoted. When she came into the church she saw Fra Felice lying on the platform under the altar, and she went forward and knelt beside him. Fra Felice turned his eyes towards her and smiled quietly. “I am going to die,” he said, hoarsely; but he corrected himself and said: “I am permitted to die.” Donna Elisa asked what the matter was, and said that she would fetch help. “Sit down here,” he said, and made a feeble attempt to wipe away the dust on the platform with his sleeve. Donna Elisa said that she wished to fetch the priests and sisters of charity. He seized her skirt and held her back. “I want to speak to you first, Donna Elisa.” It was hard for him to talk, and he breathed heavily after each word. Donna Elisa sat down beside him and waited. He lay for a while and panted; then a flush rose to his cheeks; his eyes began to shine, and he spoke with ease and eagerness. “Donna Elisa,” said Fra Felice, “I have a legacy to give away. It has troubled me all day. I do not know to whom I shall give it.” “Fra Felice,” said Donna Elisa, “do not concern yourself with such a thing. There is no one who does not need a good gift.” But now when Fra Felice’s strength had returned, he wished, before he made up his mind about the legacy, to tell Donna Elisa how good God had been to him. “Has not God been great in his grace to make me a _polacco_?” he said. “Yes, it is a great gift,” said Donna Elisa. “Only to be a little, little _polacco_ is a great gift,” said Fra Felice; “it is especially useful since the monastery has been given up, and when my comrades are gone or dead. It means having a bag full of bread before one even stretches out one’s hand to beg. It means always seeing bright faces, and being greeted with deep reverences. I know no greater gift for a poor monk, Donna Elisa.” Donna Elisa thought how revered and loved Fra Felice had been, because he had been able to predict what numbers would come out in the lottery. And she could not help agreeing with him. “If I came wandering along the road in the heat,” said Fra Felice, “the shepherd came to me and went with me a long way, and held his umbrella over me as shelter against the sun. And when I came to the laborers in the cool stone-quarries, they shared their bread and their bean-soup with me. I have never been afraid of brigands nor of _carabinieri_. The official at the custom-house has shut his eyes when I went by with my bag. It has been a good gift, Donna Elisa.” “True, true,” said Donna Elisa.