I will ask him to bring some roses, and who knows what may come of it!" Such were her thoughts, but at once she said to herself: "If that thought did not come to me from the Madonna, it certainly came from St.Anthony!" In her simple, pure heart she had felt a wave of sweetness and joy.
Without losing any time she had started for Villa Mayda, the elegant Pompeian villa, standing out white on the Aventine, among the beautiful palms, almost opposite the window of the old unfrocked monk.

Benedetto was about to go to bed, in obedience to the orders of the Professor, who had found him feverish.

It was the low, insidious fever which, for several weeks, had been consuming his strength without otherwise causing any suffering.

When he had heard what the cripple had to tell, he had come at once with the roses.
* * * * * The old man still kept his face hidden, for he was ashamed.

Presently, without looking at Benedetto, he spoke of the roses, and explained his longing for them.