Note: Translator Pauline Bancroft Flach died in 1966, less than 70 years ago. Therefore, this work is protected by copyright, restricting your legal rights to reproduce it. However, you are welcome to view it on screen, as you do now. Read more about copyright.
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321
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
grapevine.”
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?
21
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