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The Queen turned from one pitiless face to the other and knew that there was no hope for her. "My God, I shall go mad!" she moaned, as she seized the pen with trembling fingers, unconscious that she had spoken: then in a last, desperate appeal, she cried to Fabrici: "Most Reverend Father, by your hopes of Heaven, I implore you give me my boy again! il mio dilettissimo figlio!
She fell back on her pillows exhausted by her emotion, while in a low, crooning voice the name she loved to utter broke from her longing lips again, like a threnody: "Figlio dilettissimo!" The Lady Beata's heart was wrung with pity. "Nay, nay, Carinissima," she said, stooping over the couch and speaking with tender decision, "Hagios Johannes could not know what mothers feel!
She touched the heavy mourning folds of the Queen's garments, as she spoke. Caterina started in surprise; but she answered in a moment, with a little effort, "Aye it will be sweeter mine also, cara Madama; since never can the grief be less. The Holy Mother, and my figlio dilettissimo it is enough that they know. And it is for his people!"
And when it did not come to lift me out of the shadow, I longed to carry my broken heart into some holy Sisterhood and be at rest I felt no strength to live. I thought it might have been the will of the Madre Sanctissima, for she hath suffered; and I know not how to live without my figlio dilettissimo." Then suddenly she clasped her hands crying out with the passion of prayer: "My God!
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