ords was the result, which, however, suddenly stopped as
the tall, dark figure of Professor Mayda appeared, coming from the
orange-grove. The men took off their hats. He ordered the gate to be
opened, told the people that all should see Benedetto later, but not
now. In the meantime they might come into the garden. "Of course, poor
things!"

And the people entered, slowly, respectfully, some gathering around the
Professor and asking, with tears in their eyes:

"Is it true, _Signor Professore_? Is it true he is dying? Tell us!"

And behind them others pressed, anxiously awaiting the answer. The
answer was only:

"Alas! What can I say to you?"

But the sad, manly face said more than the words and the crowd moved
away mournfully, along the green slopes, which had taken on a livid hue
under the black sky streaked with white and formed a mystic symbol of
death, of the dark passage from terrestrial shadows to the upper regions
of infinite brightness.

II.
Benedetto loved Professor Mayda. When, at the Senator's house, he heard
that the Professor had decided to carry him away to Villa Mayda, he
showed great pleasure, He loved this man, who was perhaps, as yet,
incapable of faith, but was profoundly convinced that there are enigmas
which science cannot solve; who was generous, haughty with the great,
but gentle with the humble. He loved the garden also, the trees, the
flowers, and the grass, whose friend and servant he had been, as he had
been the friend and servant of the Professor. Everything in this garden
was full of sweet, innocent souls, in whose company he had adored God
in certain moments of spiritual ecstasy, placing his lips on the
tiny beings, on a flower, on a leaf, on a stem, in a breath of green
coolness. He was happy in the thought of dying amidst them. Sometimes,
under one of those pine-trees, its canopy, full of wind and of sound,
turned towards the Coelian Hill, he had thought of the last scene in his
vision, and had imagined himself stretched there on the grass, in the
Benedictine habit, pale and calm, and surrounded by mournful faces,
while the pine-tree above him sang the mysterious song of Heaven. Each
time he had stifled in his heart this sense of pleasure, which was not
unmixed with selfish, human vanity, and not entirely controlled and
suppressed in submission to the Divine Will. But he had not been able
to tear out its roots. Therefore he stretched out his arms gratefully
to the Professor.