“When some time had passed, again the desire to live awoke within me. Then Gandolfo knocked on my door, and invited me to your festival. Why should I not go? It is impossible to believe that one brings misfortune only by showing one’s self. It was a festival in itself, Donna Micaela, only to get ready and to take out one’s black clothes, brush them, and put them on. But when I came down to the scene of the festival, it was deserted; the rain streamed in torrents; your Venetian lanterns were filled with water. And you yourself looked as if you had suffered all life’s misfortunes in a single day. When you looked at me you became ashy gray with terror. I asked some one: ‘What was Signora Alagona’s maiden name?’--‘Palmeri.’--‘Ah, Palmeri; so she is from Catania. She has recognized the _jettatore_.’” “Yes, it is true; I recognized you.” “You have been very friendly, very kind, and I am distressed to have spoiled your festival. But now I promise you that I shall keep away both from your entertainment and your railway.” “Why should you keep away?” “I am a _jettatore_.” “I do not believe it. I cannot believe it.” “I do not believe it either. Yes, yes, I believe. Do you see, people say that no one can have power over a _jettatore_ who is not as great in evil as he. Once, they say, a _jettatore_ looked at himself in the glass, and then fell down and died. Well, I never look at myself in the glass. Therefore I believe it.” “I do not believe it. I think I almost believed it when I saw you out there. Now I do not believe it.” “Perhaps you will let me work on your railway?” “Yes, yes, if you only will.” He came again close up to her, and they exchanged a few short sentences. “Come forward to the light; I wish to see your face!”--“You think that I am dissembling.”--“I think that you are polite.”--“Why should I be polite to you?”--“That railway means something to you?”--“It means life and happiness to me.”--“How is that?”--“It will win one who is dear to me.”--“Very dear?” She did not reply, but he read the answer in her face. He bent his knee to her, and sank his head so low that he could kiss the hem of her dress. “You are good; you are very good. I shall never forget it. If I were not who I am, how I would serve you!” “You _shall_ serve me,” she said. And she was so moved by his misfortunes that she felt no more fear of his injuring her. He sprang up. “I will tell you something. You cannot go across the floor without stumbling if I look at you.” “Oh!” she said. “Try!” And she tried. She was very much frightened, and had never felt so unsteady as when she took her first step. Then she thought: “If it were for Gaetano’s sake, I could do it.” And then it was easy. She walked to and fro on the church floor. “Shall I do it again?” He nodded. As she was walking, the thought flashed through her brain: “The Christchild has taken the curse from him, because he is to help me.” She turned suddenly and came back to him.