“A father, Excellency.  The mother is dead.”  Each of the children made the Sign of the Cross; and Peter was somewhat surprised, no doubt, to see the Duchessa do likewise.  He had yet to learn the beautiful custom of that pious Lombard land, whereby, when the Dead are mentioned, you make the Sign of the Cross, and, pausing reverently for a moment, say in silence the traditional prayer of the Church: 

“May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the Mercy of God, rest in peace.”

“And where is your father?” the Duchessa asked.

“In Turin, Excellency,” answered the boy.  “He is a glass-blower.  After the strike at Bergamo, he went to Turin to seek work.  Now he has found it.  So he has sent for us to come to him.”

“And you two children—­alone—­are going to walk all the way to Turin!” She could not get over the pitiful wonder of it.

“Yes, Excellency.”

“The heart-rending little waifs,” she said, in English, with something like a sob.  Then, in Italian, “But—­but how do you live by the way?”

The boy touched his shoulder-load of baskets.

“We sell these, Excellency.”

“What is their price?” she asked.

“Thirty soldi, Excellency.”

“Have you sold many since you started?”

The boy looked away; and now it was his turn to hang his head, and to let his toes work nervously in the dust.

“Haven’t you sold any?” she exclaimed, drawing her conclusions.

“No, Excellency.  The people would not buy,” he owned, in a dull voice, keeping his eyes down.

“Poverino,” she murmured.  “Where are you going to sleep to-night?”

“In a house, Excellency,” said he.

But that seemed to strike the Duchessa as somewhat vague.

“In what house?” she asked.

“I do not know, Excellency,” he confessed.  “We will find a house.”

“Would you like to come back with me, and sleep at my house?”

The boy and girl looked at each other, taking mute counsel.

Then, “Pardon, noble lady—­with your Excellency’s permission, is it far?” the boy questioned.

“I am afraid it is not very near—­three or four kilometres.”

Again the children looked at each other, conferring.  Afterwards, the boy shook his head.

“A thousand thanks, Excellency.  With your permission, we must not turn back.  We must walk on till later.  At night we will find a house.”

“They are too proud to own that their house will be a hedge,” she said to Peter, again in English.  “Aren’t you hungry?” she asked the children.

“No, Excellency.  We had bread in the village, below there,” answered the boy.

“You will not come home with me, and have a good dinner, and a good night’s sleep?”

“Pardon, Excellency.  With your favour, the father would not wish us to turn back.”