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Updated: May 15, 2025
In that pause a piercing cry from above strikes upon his ear, but in the crackling of the increasing flames and a fresh torrent of smoke and burning sparks that burst out from the room, Adamo's brain always of the dullest is deadened. He forgets that cry. All his thought is to save his mistress. Even Pipa and Angelo and little Gigi are forgotten.
Wretches, they deserve it! poaching in my woods! Listen before you go, tell Pipa to come to me soon." Pipa's footsteps came clattering up the stairs to the marchesa's room. The light of the lamp she carried for it was already dark within the tower caught the spray of the fountain outside as she passed the narrow slits that served for windows.
The priest stood over her, lost in thought, his bushy eyebrows knit; then he turned to Pipa. "Has any thing happened, Pipa," he asked, "to account for this?" "Nothing your reverence," she answered. "I saw the signorina, and spoke to her, not ten minutes before I found her lying in the doorway." "Had any one seen her?" "No one." "I sent a letter to her from Count Nobili.
With characteristic discernment, she has begun her labors in the upper story, which, being unfurnished, no one ever enters. Pipa has set open all the windows, and thrown back all the blinds; Pipa sweeps and sprinkles, and sweeps again, combating with dust, and fleas and insects innumerable, grown bold by a quiet tenancy of nearly fifty years.
Ere he reaches the level of the first story, the alarm-bell over his head clangs out a goodly peal. A bound of joy within his honest heart gives him fresh courage. "It is the Madonna! When I touched her image, I knew that she would help me. Pipa has heard me. Pipa has pulled the bell. She is safe! And Angelo and little Gigi, safe! safe! Brave Pipa! How I love her!"
Pipa, meanwhile, had flung her arms about Enrica, with such an energy that she pinned her to the spot. Pipa pressed her hands about Enrica, feeling every limb; Pipa turned Enrica's white face up ward to the blaze; she stroked her long, fair hair that fell like a mantle round her. "Blessed Mother!" she sobbed, drawing her coarse fingers through the matted curls, "not a hair singed!
"They say my love is brown; but he Shines like an angel-form to me; They say my love is dark as night, To me he seems an angel bright!" Not hearing the children's voices, and fearing some trick of naughty Angelo against the peace of her precious Gigi, Pipa leaned put over the window-sill. "My babe, my babe, where art thou?" was on her lips to cry; instead, Pipa gave a piercing scream.
The dogs, too, are wilder than ever." "Riverenza, I know nothing. Perhaps there are some deserters about. We are used to the dogs. I never hear them. I am come from the signorina." At that name Count Nobili looks up and meets Pipa's gaze. If Pipa could have stabbed him then and there with the silver dagger in her black hair she would have done it, and counted it a righteous act.
Pipa, who, next to Adamo and the marchesa, loved Enrica with all the strength of her warm heart, sings all day those unwritten songs of Tuscany that rise and fall with such spontaneous cadence among the vineyards, and in the olive-grounds, that they seem bred in the air Pipa sings all day for gladness that the signorina is going to marry a rich and handsome gentleman.
Pipa curtsied in silence, and closed the marchesa's door. Midnight had struck from the church-clock at Corellia. The strokes seemed to come slower by night than day, and sounded hollower. Hours ago the last light had gone out. The moon had set behind the cleft summits of La Pagna. Distant thunder had died away among the rocks. The night was close and still.
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