“Micaela!”--it came almost like a wail. Donna Micaela thought that her father already looked like a conquered man, but she continued as if she had noticed nothing. “_Some one came_,” she said with strong emphasis, “and he had had new vines sent out. He began to plant them in their vineyards. They laughed at him; they said that he was mad. But look, his vines grew and lived; they did not die. And he has saved Gela.” “I do not think that your story is entertaining, Micaela,” said Cavaliere Palmeri with an attempt to interrupt her. “It is quite as entertaining as your investigations,” she said, calmly. “But I will tell you something. One day I went into your room to get a book on antiquities. Then I found that all your bookshelves were full of pamphlets about the phylloxera, about the cultivation of grapes, about wine-making.” The cavaliere twisted on his chair like a worm. “Be silent; be silent!” he said feebly. He was more embarrassed than when he was accused of theft. Now all the suppressed fun shone once more in her eyes. “I sometimes looked at the letters you sent off,” she continued. “I wished to see with what learned men you corresponded. It surprised me that the letters were always addressed to presidents and secretaries of Agricultural Societies.” Cavaliere Palmeri was unable to utter a word. Donna Micaela enjoyed his helplessness more than can be described. She looked him steadily in the eyes. “I do not believe that Domenico has yet learned to recognize a ruin,” she said with emphasis. “The dirty children of Gela play with him every day, and feed him with water-cresses. Domenico seems to be a god in Gela, to say nothing of his--” Cavaliere Palmeri seemed to have an idea. “Your railway,” he said; “what did you say about your railway? Perhaps I really can come to-morrow.” Donna Micaela did not listen to him. She took up her pocket-book. “I have here a counterfeit old coin,” she said,--“a ‘Demarata’ of nickel. I bought it to show Domenico. He is going to snort.” “Listen, child!” She did not answer his attempts to make amends. Now the power was hers. It would take more than that to pacify her. “Once I opened your knapsack to look at your antiquities. The only thing there was an old grape-vine.” She was full of sparkling gayety. “Child, child!” “What is it to be called? It does not seem to be investigating. Is it perhaps charity; is it perhaps atonement--” Cavaliere Palmeri struck with his clenched fist on the table so that the glasses and plates rang. It was unbearable. A dignified and solemn old gentleman could not endure such mockery. “As surely as you are my daughter, you must be silent now.” “Your daughter!” she said, and her gayety was gone in an instant; “am I really your daughter? The children in Gela are allowed to caress at least Domenico, but I--” “What do you wish, Micaela, what do you want?” They looked at one another, and their eyes simultaneously filled with tears. “I have no one but you,” she murmured.