Lost and Found

Luigi Pirandello

Lost and Found

I

Crickets trilled all through the calm September evening along the narrow beach cluttered with heaps of sulphur. Until the middle of the last century, this had been an inlet and the sea pounded against the walls of the expanding town. When the inlet filled in, forming a narrow, sandy strip of beach, it was quickly appropriated and loads of sulphur were dumped there.

Who could tell what would become of Vignetta a hundred or two hundred years from now? Meanwhile, for the inhabitants it was almost a city. The port handled most of the commerce of the island, though it still had no dock. Two long stony arms curved into the sea and were joined in the middle by a slender wooden bridge, called the Old Jetty. This modest span had the honor of accommodating a kind of harbor office and the white tower of the main lighthouse.

All day long the place was in a hubbub. Every morning at dawn the town crier woke everyone with a roll on his drum: "Men of the seal to work!"

Carts loaded with sulphur had already begun to screech on their axles. They had only iron mountings and no springs and they jolted over holes in the big, dusty road, crowded by teams of skinny donkeys harnessed and loaded with sulphur in two  baskets balanced on either side.

Sicilian boats with big triangular sails half raised crowded  into shore where scales were set up to weigh the sulphur before  it was loaded onto the backs of the men of the sea. Sacks fastened to bands around their foreheads hung down and protected their  backs. Barefoot, in duck pants, they waded into the water up to  their waists to transfer their loads of sulphur to the waiting boats. When these were full the sails were hoisted high and the boats  conveyed their cargoes of sulphur to the merchant ships anchored inside or just outside the harbor.

All this activity took place on the beach.

In the town, on the main thoroughfare, other carts arrived laden with sacks of barley, wheat and beans.

"Ho there! Weighers!" the porters hailed.

Sacks from each cart were taken down and emptied onto large burlap drop cloths spread out on the road. Barley and wheat were measured by tomalo, a Sicilian measure used especially for dry grain. The sacks were then refilled and carried into a warehouse, always well protected against humidity. Five tomali made one sack, and twenty tomali made a salma.

"Count onel Count twol" the weighers cried with every twenty  tomali, in trailing singsong voices.

So it went until sunset, with only a brief respite at noon. In the evening, after all that noise, quiet reigned over the town. The crickets took over and thrummed their song along the beach among the heaps of sulphur; occasionally a watchdog barked. Meanwhile the surface of the harbor lay quiet as a lake and a dark forest of masts huddled under the protecting light of the beacon, whose green flash was reflected in the black water.

Beyond the little port, the open sea extended all the way to the horizon in the moonlight, forming a wide semicircle with Punta Bianca to the right and Monte Rossello to the left.

ΩΩ

Overlooking the quiet sea from the terrace of the Prinzi villa, Signorina Rita listened to the avowals of her friend, Anna Cesaro. Her eyes wandered over those pale lips and slightly uneven teeth, causing Anna to lower her own eyes as she spoke and her voice to sound more muted and tremulous than ever. Some#times Rita's eyes narrowed a little in sympathy, which disturbed Anna even more, and her trembling fingers plucked at the lace on her sleeve. Rita gave a little sigh and turned up her eyes.

"This morning, at last, I had my revenge," said Anna.

"Yes? What did you do to him?" asked Rita without the slight#est curiosity. "I closed the window in his face," Anna replied.

Rita sighed. In her heart she felt very sorry for her friend, who was so hopelessly in love with Mondino Morgani, the young doc#tor of Vignetta. Morgani was tall-six feet two at least-and as thin as a rail. He had hair the color of straw, and bright blue eyes. His nose was thin but so prominent that every time he laughed it went white and the skin stretched so tightly it nearly split.

Poor Dr. Morgani, how could he return Anna's passion when he did not even suspect it? Or so Rita thought, and the timid confidences of her friend made her suffer for her. The poor girl was so mislead that she did not realize how ridiculous her gestures must look to someone she wanted as a sweetheart-closing the window in his face, indeed! Poor thing-whatever for?

Being tied to the small town of Vignetta because of her father's sulphur business had altered Rita's naturally gay, easygoing disposition. The contrast here between the vastness of nature, the sky, the sea, and the depressing insignificance of the inhabitants was too strong. Her father was occupied all day with his business affairs, her mother with her housekeeping, so that Rita, left entirely to herself, fell into the habit of daydreaming. She had no friends in Vignetta except Anna, who was insignificant too, in her way. She found nothing and no one to interest her in this town. Aimless, almost lifeless, she consciously allowed the best days of her life to slip away one by one.

Anna lived in more modest circumstances than Rita. Her father, Rosario Cesaro, a strange sort of man, had died four years ago. He had thrown his all into sulphur holes in his mania to discover sulphur in the surrounding hills. He opened up those hills, dug holes as deep as six hundred feet and found nothing but water-water, which meant the installation of pumps to drain it off, then subterranean tunnels to deviate the stream. He fed thousands and thousands of lire into those gluttonous holes without ever realizing any return

ΩΩ

Anna met Dr. Morgani at the unfortunate time of her father's last illness. After his death, her mother, her sister and her brotherin-law were in mourning and paid little attention to Anna. She was now eighteen and had been in delicate health since childhood.

Mondino Morgani had been practicing medicine for only three months and Signor Cesaro was his "first death." It was true, he had been carried off by an incurable disease, but nonetheless Mondino felt a kind of remorse over his death.

During her father's illness Anna grew so thin that her small nose and slightly receding chin seemed to shrink back in alarm beneath those extraordinarily large green eyes under the flame of her thick, unruly red hair. Because of her long, slender neck, she seemed almost as tall as the doctor. When she coughed, Mondino glanced at her narrow chest and bony shoulders.

My God! he thought. That girl is tubercular.

He immediately took her under his care. He himself went to the kitchen to order broth and carried it up to the young girl's bedside.

"No, it's impossible," she said. "I can't, Doctor."

"Do me this favor. Look, just this little cup! Make an effort and it will go down."

"I swear to you—it's impossible."

"Do it for me. See, we'll try one spoonful ... this little one."

"Oh, goodness."

"Another one, like a good girl."

"Enough. I can't take any more."

"Listen, I don't intend to budge from here until you drink this cup of broth."

Anna gave him a look with those big green eyes which said clearly, "I will do it just for you." Then she closed her eyes and swallowed.

"Good! That was fine. Now I can go feeling a lot happier! See you this evening, Signorina."

From her little bed, Anna followed him all the way to the door with her eyes, then she dived under the covers, sighing happily, completely carried away, kissing the pillow with yearning lips. 

Mondino even went so far as to sample some bitter medicine himself first, to get his new patient to take it. What doctor would ever do a thing like that? And the way he talked to her-and coaxed her!

Rita hinted to her friend that she doubted he could be in love with her. Poor Annal She fished around in her memory. No, no. She was not mistaken-not at all. Those carnations in full bloom-yes, the beautiful plant of red-streaked carnations she kept on the window sill of her room! Dr. Morgani liked flowers very much, and during his calls he could never take his eyes off that plant.

"What beautiful carnations! May I, Signorina?"

"Of course, Doctor." He picked a flower with his long, thin fingers and put it in his buttonhole.

When Anna was up and around again, in gratitude to the doctor she presented him with the luxuriant pot of carnations. Dr. Morgani never wore any other flower in his buttonhole as long as the carnations were in bloom.

Was this not significant, too? Rita thought to herself: That precious fool of a doctor; he's been basking in it. And on the whole she was right.

However, it should be said straight off that Mondino had no intention of hurting Anna. He really considered himself the most irresistible young man in Vignetta. By nature courteous and polite, he was without affectation, so what could he do about it? All the girls lost their hearts to him, thinking he was courting them. But, on his word of honor, there wasn't a word of truth to it. If they lost their hearts, they were free to do so-he even liked it-but he... Moreover, Signorina Cesaro — a charming girl, no denying it — should realize that he had a very noble, Iucrative profession in hand, that his parents were rich and that she, poor little thing, had no dowry. Of course, when one is in love one does not consider such things; however, parents usually did. He would not mention her figure-let that pass. Mondino had his own ideas on the subject: "Beauty is not important in a wife. It is enough that she be intelligent and virtuous."

But what was the use of discussing it? For the moment, he had no intention whatever of getting married. Every time he was called to the Cesaro house, he snorted like a tired horse.

"Oufl That girl takes sick just so she can have me near her." But once there, beside Anna's narrow bed, the provocative touch of that slender wrist trembling between his fingers, the burning look in those big green eyes pleading for mercy troubled even Mondino Morgani. He was embarrassed and could hardly put two words together-two words of Greek from that store of medical terminology in which he excelled.

"Has she any fever, Doctor?" her mother asked.

Mondino wanted to reply in exasperation, "There's one thing certain: If she hasn't, she soon will have."

II

"Look... Look. He's turning around!" Anna nudged Rita's elbow on the railing of the terrace.

"Do be sensible, Anna," Rita chided, pretending not to see him.

Below, Mondino Morgani passed slowly along the beach, looking up deliberately at the terrace of the Prinzi house where the two friends were leaning. He passed like that every day at the same hour, always looking up at the terrace even when Anna was not there.

His look made Anna very happy. She thought it was directed at her.

"See... See... Now do you believe me?"

"No, I don't," said Rita dryly, looking out to sea.

"Why not? I assure you ... " Anna insisted timidly.

"I am suspicious. I believe only facts. If I were you, I'd be wary."

"You know something? Have you heard something by any chance?"

"No, nothing. I speak from experience."

"And yet ... " Anna sighed, on the verge of tears.

Rita, looking at those pale, trembling lips and large bewil#dered eyes, was sorry she had put her thoughts into words.

"Pay no attention to what I say. I'm feeling depressed today. No one knows about this better than you do, and if you say ... "

She interrupted herself to suggest, "Let's go down and play the piano. Come on."

Mondino Morgani passed by the terrace again. Anna caught sight of him just as she was about to follow Rita, and she stopped with one hand on the railing, looking at him deliberately.

Mondino went by as straight as a stick without acknowledging her glance. Did he see me or didn't he? Anna asked herself tremulously. Or was there someone in a window nearby?

She looked around but saw no one, and thought of what Rita had said. Suffering torment, she went down the steps of the terrace.

Rita was playing Coop's "Longing" fervently. Anna had hardly come into the room when she looked around, but kept on playing.

"He came back, didn't he?"

"Yes ... but he didn't see me."

"Ah, he didn't turn around!" Rita remarked with a strange little smile at the corners of her mouth. She took her hands from the piano to pick up Anna's hands, looking into her eyes.

"If this is meant as a joke, he'll have to deal with me," said Anna, interpreting her friend's look and biting her lower lip.

"What can you do to him?" asked Rita with a shrug, the same smile still hovering on her lips.

"Oh, if he thinks I'm anything like the harbor captain's daughter, that big flirt with all her carrying-on, or that fish, Sarina Scoma, who bills and coos on the public square with the officers, or-"

"My dear," Rita cut in, "where men are concerned, they are

always right. You love him, don't you?"

Anna went on biting her lower lip.

"All right, then, suppose he starts flirting with someone else,

suppose he even marries her, leaving you flat. What can you do?"

"We haven't come to that yet," Anna objected. "In any case, I must rid myself of this uncertainty."

Rita sighed. Unfortunately, she was not at all uncertain.

ΩΩ

Mondino Morgani felt perfectly sure that at the flick of his finger all the girls of Vignetta would throw themselves out the window crying, "Take me! Take me!” Only one resisted him: Rita Prinzi- And there was no doubt, at least in Dr. Morgani's mind, that she was the most beautiful, the most intelligent of them all. Educated as a lady, she played the piano, embroidered, spoke French, came of a respectable family, and had a reason#able dowry. And so back and forth he passed beneath her windows. Rita saw very well what was going on. He thinks he has only to open his mouth like a frog, she thought, looking after him. Well, this fly won't fall in, my dear! She went indoors so as not to give the fool any illusions. Oh, poor Anna!

At last Mondino was convinced that he was only wearing out good shoe leather and decided to take the plunge. ''I'll pluck the loveliest rose of Vignetta! Goodbye, bachelor life! Goodbye, little secret affairs!"

But her answer was a curt "No!"

No? Why no? Why? Mondino asked himself. It gave him no peace. How can it be no? In despair, he walked up and down in his bedroom, hands behind his back, quite forgetting the cold, wearing only his shirt and slippers. That "no" was unexpected. How could it be? Their ages were right. Let's see, he thirty and she twenty-two-just eight years' difference. He was not deformed, nor so unpleasant to look at, really. For a man, he was of a good height, had a noble, lucrative profession, a good family from every point of view. "I don't understand it!" And he scratched his white, hairless chest under his shirt with cold, nervous fingers.

"I don't under .. . Ah-chooool Ah-choool"

"God bless you, Mondino," his aunt called from the next room.

"Thank you," he called back.

He was catching cold. He put on his coat and began walking up and down again.

Could Signorina Rita be setting her cap for some prince?

For the moment, my daughter has no intention of getting married! A fine excuse! At twenty-two ... When would she make up her mind?

He blew his nose loudly. For three days he did not leave the house.

"Mondino, a patient."

"Say I'm in bed with a cold."

"Mondino, they are calling for you from the Cesaro house."

"Signorina Anna? Be damned!"

He rolled over in his bed and pulled up the covers.

"The doctor has a cold."

III

It was a mortal blow for poor Anna. She learned about his proposal to Rita from her friend's own lips through a trick of which no one would have thought Anna capable. She had noticed a shade of bitterness pass over Rita's face and creep into her words whenever she referred to the doctor, where before there had been only pity. Why?

"I know that Dr. Morgani asked for your hand," she said to Rita, as if in answer to her friend's accusations against him.

"Who told you that?" demanded Rita with a frown.

"So then it is true!" exclaimed Anna, her face aflame.

"How did you know? Who told you?" Rita repeated in her embarrassment.

"No one. It was clear from what you just said."

"That I refused him?"

"Yes. Why? Because of me?" asked Anna, so emotionally upset that she looked as if she would faint any minute. "Oh, but if you did it because of me ... "

"No," Rita put in haughtily. "In the first place you know that I never liked him, the old stick. But in any case I would have turned him down because of you."

Anna struggled in her heart with shame, love, jealousy and humiliation. On the one hand, she felt like lashing out at the doctor with every kind of insult, and on the other it hurt her to hear Rita say anything against him. She wanted to stop her friend from belittling the one she had so long deemed worthy of her heart, but pride restrained her.

"I have no dowry; that's the reason."

Rita tried to comfort Anna as best she could, deflecting all the ridiculous notions of revenge Anna proposed out of hurt feelings.

"Where men are concerned, as I already told you, they are always in the right. It is better not to love-"

"Yes ... yes. It's far better," Anna agreed, sobbing.

Finally, when she had regained her composure somewhat, Anna went home. She wandered through the rooms all day in a daze, as if it was the menacing storm, whose clouds were rolling darkly above the iron-gray sea, that kept her from helping her mother with the household chores.

That night there was a downpour over Vignetta. Lightning flashed across the sky and immediately afterward there was the crashing roll of thunder.

Anna stood before the open window, bewitched by the violence of the storm. Rain lashed her face and drenched her clothes. She started with every flicker of that sinister light through the darkness over the raging sea. Crying, burning with fever, she imagined her unhappiness at this moment greater than that of any other living creature. She was wracked, trembling and convulsed by her misery. Out at sea, in the middle of the storm-how fortunate were those sailors facing imminent death. To die... to die... a thousand times better to die!

The next day when her mother came into her room she found Anna in bed, the window open and the floor still wet from the rain.

"Did you sleep like this? Are you crazy, Anna? Are you ill? Oh, Lord Godl How do you feel? Are you feverish?"

In alarm the poor mother sent for the doctor.

"The doctor is in bed with a cold and cannot come," the servant said when she returned.

But he did come the following day.

Anna received him as though he were a stranger. She would not answer any of his questions, possibly because she feared her voice might betray her emotions.

Mondino turned to her mother. "Why did she stand in the rain? The window open all night! How idiotic!"

Anna clenched her teeth and closed her eyes, drawing a long breath through her nostrils. Then she coughed.

"Horrible weather! Look at me, and I did nothing foolish, Signora."

To underline the fact that he was suffering from a cold, Mon#dino blew his nose. Then he wrote out a prescription and left.

"I will be back this evening."

IV

Following Rita Prinzi's refusal, Mondino Morgani had an un#foreseen series of utter failures. In quick succession he was refused by:

(1) The daughter of the harbor captain, Nannina Vettoli, rival of Rita Prinzi. She was twenty-four years old (twenty-one, she said), dark-haired, not pretty but winning, with a twelve-thousand-lire dowry, her mother dead; she spoke good Italian#not only the regional dialect-spoke fair French, and played the

piano.

(2) Carmela Ninfa, eighteen years old, rather ugly-looked a little like a monkey-but had a twenty-five-thousand-lire dowry; both parents intact; French zero, Italian zero, piano zero.

(3) Sarina Scoma (even shel), twenty-seven years old, of du#bious complexion under a pasty layer of make-up; fifteen-thousand-lire dowry; no education at all; spoke Italian by ear, though in her native dialect she was voluble enough.

(4) Giovanna Merca, the niece of Lawyer Merca. Her father was a leather dealer, but she always referred to herself as "Lawyer Merca's niece." No dowry, only her trousseau; she embroidered beautifully, played the piano, read trashy novels from morning till night, talked like a man and was ugly-but she was Lawyer Merca's niece.

Nannina Vettoli refused him, or so he understood, because Rita Prinzi had refused him first; Carmela Ninfa because she was very short and he looked too tall beside her; Sarina Scoma because (at the moment) she was taken with an officer of a detach#ment stationed in Vignetta; Giovanna Merca, because she was carrying on a feverish correspondence with a port official who had recently been transferred to Leghorn.

Mondino was almost driven out of his mind.

Apart from his person, apart from his family, was he a doctor, yes or no? Is a doctor of medicine, by rights, an important figure in a little town like Vignetta, or isn't he? Oh, it was quite evident that those girls had talked one another out of it-because, of course, apart from his person, apart from his family, where could

they ever hope to find a better match? The girls' plot was all too plain in the marked displeasure shown by the fathers and the lawyer-uncle when they had to bring him a negative reply. He seemed fated to remain a bachelor.

"Good riddance!" Mondino would have cried, no doubt, if it were not for the fact that he was a doctor and was therefore obliged to call again and again at the Scoma house, or the Mer#cas', at the Vettolis' or the Ninfas'. To make the best of his amorous misfortunes, Mondino decided to look on the whole thing as the hand of fate turned against him and, using this excuse as a shield to hide his true humiliation, he would appear to harbor no grudge against any of the families concerned. But he was very gloomy.

Meanwhile Anna grew worse every day. Mondino's fears, based on her weak constitution, proved only too true. Sitting at her bedside, he felt more depressed than ever without knowing why.

Anna had brightened a little during her illness, as her tempestuous feelings settled into passive acceptance of her lot. How#ever, from time to time a thought would return to stir them up.

She replied now briefly to Mondino's questions.

"How do you feel today, Signorina?"

"Better, Doctor."

She said "better," but he well knew . ..

As the days passed, Mondino's visits grew longer and were more and more friendly. He talked with her mother and even managed to get Anna to say a few words. After uttering a sad reflection on life or on the wrong concept we are apt to form of men or of society, he would smile bravely and sigh. Anna did not seem to be listening-but she was, most attentively.

Ah, the injustice of human nature, Mondino thought to him#self. Here is this girl, dying because of me-and she really is dying, for there is no hope of saving her now. Yet I was unable to fall in love with her, the only one in the whole town I wouldn't have had to ask twice.

Suddenly he conceived the idea of asking her now; his spirit was low at the moment and then he believed that, if nothing more, it might help her to die happy.

It would be an act of charity, he told himself.

Moreover, he owed it to her, because at one time he knew he had been a little too encouraging to the poor girl.

ΩΩ

Rita Prinzi watched over Anna like a sister. She never left the sick girl's side, reading softly to her so as not to tire her and talking gaily to keep her spirits up. However, every time the doctor came she fled so she would not have to meet him.

One morning she was not quick enough, and as Mondino turned the doorknob he heard a chair fall, yet he found Anna alone in the room.

"Am I disturbing you, Signorina?" he asked from the door#way, leaning forward on his long, straight legs.

"No," Anna replied dryly.

"I thought I heard someone run out."

"Yes, Rita," said Anna

"Oh," Mondino said with a wry smile. "Why does she run away? Am I so frightening?"

He sat down and took Anna's frail wrist between his fingers.

"I was wrong, Signorina, " he said, still holding her wrist, "to knock at certain doors where I should not have knocked, and I am sorry. If you could only know how deeply sorry I am, you would believe me. I wandered like a blind man, Signorina. Now my eyes are opened, I hope not too late-if you will only believe in my repentance and forgive me."

His words took Anna's breath away, and little by little she drew her wrist from his hand.

"You should not be saying these things to me," she said with#out looking at him and in a voice that tried to be finn.

Anna's mother, called by Rita, now opened the door and came into the room.

"To your mother, then?" he asked, smiling toward her mother.

"What is it? " she asked, sitting at the foot of her daughter's bed.

"We were saying-or, that is, I was saying to your daughter#that she must get well soon because we need her-I especially. I even more than you, Signora. I lost my way like a blind man, I told her, and I have found it again, here, beside this little bed. You do understand me, Signora? Here beside Signorina Anna—what do you say to that?"

Her mother understood neither his words nor the bittersweet tone of his voice. She looked at him in surprise. Then finally she understood from the look he directed at her daughter as soon as he had finished speaking, and from the strained expression on her daughter's face.

She blushed and replied, almost stammering, "What? But I never imagined. I .. . I . . . I'm very happy. But you must have her answer from her own lips. Isn't that right, Anna?"

Anna, her face like wax, half closed her eyes.

"Then it's up to you, Signorina, " said Mondino, smiling, lean#ing over the bed expectantly.

"Well, then, no!" Anna said, opening her eyes with a frown.

At that "no" Mondino drew back, his face pale, a resigned smile on his lips.

"No!" he exclaimed. "You, too, no? Ah, you repay my sincerity badly, Signorina. I did not believe ... "

He broke off, passing his hand over his forehead and his eyes. Then he resumed, with a long sigh: "Never mind, Signora Cesaro, you have nothing to fear. This will not in any way affect my care of her. I will try to win, if not her affection, at least her esteem. Insofar as I am able, I will do my duty."

He immediately changed the subject with great tact, or at least that was Rita's opinion as she listened at the door.

V

Jesus-an authentic portrait taken from an emerald cut by order of Tiberius, Roman Emperor in the thirtieth year of the Christian Era. This gem, the inestimable value of which does not ex#ceed its artistic merit, came, after many vicissitudes, to enrich the treasure of the Turks, whose Emperor later gave it to Pope Innocent VIII to redeem his brother who had been taken prisoner by the Christians.

Absorbed in thought, Rita sat at the foot of Anna's bed and involuntarily reread this inscription under a picture of Jesus hanging above it.

After her "no," Anna had taken a turn for the worse. Her condition rapidly declined.

"You should not be here, Rita," she said. "If I were you, I would be afraid to stay here. "

"Of course not, Anna. You must be joking! You are better. "

"Yes, of course-better. "

She no longer had the strength to lift her arms and, with a bitter smile, called her friend's attention to this weakness.

Rita's parents had also advised her-nay, begged her-not to go to Anna's house any longer.

"Nonsense, " Rita replied. "When the doctor himself tells me it is no longer safe to go there, I will not go. We have not reached that point yet."

Anna's illness had quickened her senses and especially rein· forced her innate suspiciousness. She spied on her friend, convinced in her heart that Rita disapproved of her sharp refusal of the doctor's offer. Mondino's reaction was now one of brotherly attention-even in front of Rita. Why was it that Rita no longer ran from the room when Dr. Morgani came in? Instead, she turned to him with questions and asked his advice about Anna's care. Mondino evidently took some pleasure in answering her questions in his usual polite manner. And Anna gathered from Rita's expression that she no longer found him either displeasing or foolish.

Ah, how good, how very good he is, thought Anna deep in her heart, and how well he expresses himself.

At the same time, Rita confessed to herself: He is not as silly as I took him to be. And he certainly must have a good heart! Mondino, on his side, was aware of these favorable reactions and carefully fostered them. Following this course, he felt certain of being safely maneuvered into port.

Anna foresaw it too and if, on the one hand, she had a feeling of jealous resentment against Rita, on the other hand she forgave Mondino. She enjoyed hearing him talk so beautifully to her friend and noticed how he had already won her over:. She wanted to say to Rita, "You see, he is worthy of being loved after all. Ah, now you think as highly of him as I did! Very well, go away. You do not stay here because of me any longer but only to see him and talk to him twice a day-I understand, perhaps even more clearly than you do yourselves. You show so much pity for me, both of you, because in that shared pity lies the path of your own love. Go away, Rita-for my sake and for yours-go."

But Rita did not go. She was impatient if the doctor was five minutes late, and went to look out the same window from which Anna had once leaned to watch Mondino go by. Rita, meanwhile, sincerely believed that her impatience was due only to her solicitude for her friend.

To discover just how far the understanding between them had gone, Anna pretended one day to be asleep at the time the doctor usually came to call.

That day her mother was not in the room because Anna had begged her to go to bed and rest after the long hours she had spent at her bedside during the previous night.

Finally Mondino arrived and Rita quickly made a sign for him to come in on tiptoe.

"She's sleeping, " she whispered when he was beside the bed.

Mondino looked down at his patient, then turned toward Rita and sadly shook his head.

"She already looks as if the end had come. " Rita sighed.

Mondino nodded assent and then, a little embarrassed, said  softly, "Now, Signorina, listen. It isn't right for you to continue  coming here. I understand that she is your dear friend. I am  aware of your warmhearted impulses, but you must realize that... I am uneasy when I am away thinking of you here, constantly exposed to this danger. Do you understand me? Please go

away after today-and don't come back. Will you promise? It is  so unwise."

"I have already told her that! " cried Anna, suddenly opening  her eyes wide on the two of them.

Rita and Mondino were startled.

"I said it was unwise," Mondino stammered, embarrassed, "not because of your condition, Signorina Anna, but because ... because Signorina Rita is not well. She is worn out-and she suffers to see you like this. "

"Ah, is that why? If that's all, then leave her alone, Doctor, because she is not suffering, " said Anna, smiling bitterly. "I suf#fer-yes, I am the one who suffers. For pity's sake, let me die in

peace. Don't either of you come back again. What joy can you have in loving each other here in the presence of death?"

Rita burst into tears, burying her face in her hands, and Mon#dino, confused, unnerved, could find no words to answer Anna.

He went out hastily without daring to say goodbye.

ΩΩ

About two weeks later Anna died.

For seven years now she has lain in the high-perched, lonely cemetery of Vignetta, among its bright flowers and its many cypress trees. It is as well for her peace of mind that she cannot know that Mondino Morgani and Rita Prinzi were married five years ago and now have two children, Coco and Mimi, as blond and blue-eyed as their father.