Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 7, 2025
"La macchia! . . . la macchia!" With that last breath, drawing in the scent of it, she laid her head slowly back, and slept. The Bavarelli took it for granted that I would bury her in the graveyard, down the valley. But I consulted with Brother Polifilo.
For my money began to run low, and, save Milan, there was no large town on the road where I could sell another jewel. Yet here again Our Lady helped; for at Trecate I found the good priest, the brother of these Bavarelli, and he, having heard my tale, offered to travel to Milan and do my business.
Sick man though I was, bliss filled those days for me, and their memory is steeped in bliss. Yet a thought began, after a while, to trouble me. We were living on these poor Bavarelli, and, for aught I knew, paying them not a penny. The good farmer might be grateful to his priest-brother down yonder; but even if his gratitude were inexhaustible we strangers as we were ought not to test it so.
Also, on fine mornings when the snow held and the little ones could be trusted along the path, the entire household of the Bavarelli would troop up to Mass in his tiny chapel. For me, it was many weeks before my sick brain allowed me to climb beyond the pines; and many weeks, though the Princess always went with me before she told me all the story of what had happened in Genoa.
We laid her in the coffin that Brother Polifilo brought, and carried her to the summit of the mountain overlooking the pass, where the rock had allowed us to dig the shallowest of graves. Beside it, when the coffin was covered, I said good-bye to the Bavarelli and dismissed them down the hill. They understood that I had yet a word to speak to the good monk.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking