What she had still to say was the most dreadful of all. She said that she had tried all day long to think of the real Madonna, and that she had recalled to her mind all the images of her she had ever seen. But it had all been in vain, because as soon as she thought of the shining queen of heaven, the old black goddess came and placed herself between them. She saw her come like a dried-up and officious old maid, and stand in front of the great queen of heaven, so that now no Madonna existed for her any longer. She believed that the latter was angry with her because she had done so much for the other, and that she hid her face and her grace from her. And, on account of the false Madonna, her father was now to suffer misfortune. Now she would never be allowed to keep him in her home. Now she would never win his forgiveness. Oh, God! oh, God! And all this she said to Gaetano, who honored the black Madonna of Diamante more than anything else in the world. He now came close up to Donna Micaela, and she feared that it was her last hour. She said in a faint voice, as if to excuse herself: “I am mad. Grief is driving me mad. I never sleep.” But Gaetano’s only thought had been what a child she was, and that she did not at all understand how to meet life. He hardly knew himself what he was doing when he gently drew her to him and kissed her, because she had gone so astray and was such a helpless child. She was so overcome with astonishment that she did not even think of avoiding it. And she neither screamed nor ran away. She understood instantly that he had kissed her as he would a child. She only walked quickly on and began to cry. That kiss had made her feel how helpless and forsaken she was, and how much she longed for some one strong and good to take care of her. It was terrible that, although she had both father and husband, she should be so forsaken that this stranger should need to feel sympathy for her. When Gaetano saw her trembling with silent sobs, he felt that he too began to shake. A strong and violent emotion took possession of him. He came close to her once more and laid his hand on her arm. And his voice, when he spoke, was not clear and loud; it was thick and choked with emotion. “Will you go with me to Argentina if the Madonna does not help you?” Then Donna Micaela shook him off. She felt suddenly that he no longer talked to her as to a child. She turned and went back into the town. Gaetano did not follow her; he remained standing in the path where he had kissed her, and it seemed as if never again could he leave that place. For two days Gaetano dreamed of Donna Micaela, but on the third he came to the summer palace to speak to her. He found her on the roof-garden, and instantly told her that she must flee with him. He had thought it out since they parted. He had stood in his workshop and considered everything that had happened, and now it was all clear to him.