He had not been long at all. He had only been away five minutes. “God! God! so that is being a prisoner; that is Gaetano’s life!” She burst into tears when she saw the open sky once more above her. A while later, as they stood out on an open _loggia_, Gandolfo showed her a couple of windows with shutters and green shades. “Does any one live there?” she asked. “Yes, Donna Micaela, some one does.” Gandolfo told her that a man lived there who never went out except at night,--a man who never spoke to any one. “Is he crazy?” asked Donna Micaela. “No, no; he is as much in his right mind as you or I. But people say that he has to conceal himself. He is afraid of the government.” Donna Micaela was much interested in the man. “What is his name?” she said. “I call him Signor Alfredo.” “How does he get any food?” she asked. “I prepare it for him,” said Gandolfo. “And clothes?” “I get them for him. I bring him books and newspapers, too.” Donna Micaela was silent for a while. “Gandolfo,” she said, and gave him a rose which she held in her hand, “lay this on the tray the next time you take food to your poor prisoner.” After that Donna Micaela sent some little thing almost every day to the man in the monastery. It might be a flower, a book or some fruit. It was her greatest pleasure. She amused herself with her fancies. She almost succeeded in imagining that she was sending all these things to Gaetano. When the day for the bazaar came, Donna Micaela was in the cloister early in the morning. “Gandolfo,” she said, “you must go up to your prisoner and ask him if he will come to the entertainment this evening.” Gandolfo soon came back with the answer. “He thanks you very much, Donna Micaela,” said the boy. “He will come.” She was surprised, for she had not believed that he would venture out. She had only wished to show him a kindness. Something made Donna Micaela look up. She was standing in the cloister garden, and a window was thrown open in one of the buildings above her. Donna Micaela saw a middle-aged man of an attractive appearance standing up there and looking down at her. “There he is, Donna Micaela,” said Gandolfo. She was happy. She felt as if she had redeemed and saved the man. And it was more than that. People who have no imagination will not understand it. But Donna Micaela trembled and longed all day; she considered how she would be dressed. It was as if she had expected Gaetano. Donna Micaela soon had something else to do than to dream; the livelong day a succession of calamities streamed over her. The first was a communication from the old Etna brigand, Falco Falcone:-- DEAR FRIEND, DONNA MICAELA,--As I have heard that you intend to build a railway along Etna, I wish to tell you that with my consent it will never be. I tell you this now so that you need not waste any more money and trouble on the matter. Enlightened and most nobly born signora, I remain Your humble servant,