Ah, now she must be glad, be content! But she was not. She felt the most terrible pain. She could not go. Her father was allowed to remain, and so she must be faithful to Don Ferrante. She struggled to understand. It was so. She could not go. She tried to change it in some way. Perhaps it was a false conclusion. She had been so confused. No, no, it was so, she could not. Then she became tired unto death. She had travelled and travelled the whole day. She had been so long on the way. And she would never get there. She sank down. A torpor and faintness came over her. There was nothing to do but to rest after the endless journey she had made. But that she could never do. She began to weep because she would never reach her journey’s end. Her whole life long she would travel, travel, travel, and never reach the end of her journey. VIII TWO SONGS It was the morning after the day when San Pasquale’s bells had rung; and Donna Elisa sat in her shop and counted her money. The day before, when everyone had been afraid, there had been an incredible sale in the shop, and the next morning, when she had come down, she had at first been almost frightened. For the whole shop was desolate and empty; the medallions were gone, the wax candles were gone, and so were all the great bunches of rosaries. All Gaetano’s beautiful images had been taken down from the shelves and sold, and it was a real grief to Donna Elisa not to see the host of holy men and women about her. She opened the money-drawer, and it was so full that she could hardly pull it out. And while she counted her money she wept over it as if it had all been false. For what good did it do her to possess all those dirty lire and those big copper coins when she had lost Gaetano! Alas! she thought that if he had stopped at home one day more he would not have needed to go, for now she was laden down with money. While she was counting she heard the post-carriage stop outside her door. But she did not even look up; she did not care what happened, since Gaetano was gone. Then the door opened, and the bell rang violently. She only wept and counted. Then some one said: “Donna Elisa, Donna Elisa!” And it was Gaetano! “But heavens! how can you be at home?” she cried.--“You have sold all your images. I had to come home to carve new ones for you.”--“But how did you find out about it?”--“I met the post-carriage at two o’clock in the night. Rosa Alfari was in it, and she told me everything.”--“What luck that you went down to the post-carriage! What luck that you happened to think of going down to the post-carriage!”--“Yes; was it not good fortune?” said Gaetano. In less than an hour Gaetano was again standing in his workshop; and Donna Elisa, who had nothing at all to do in her empty shop, came incessantly to the door to look at him. No, was he really standing there and carving? She could not let five minutes pass without coming to look at him.