Inside the altar hung a picture of a pitying woman, and there were candles and foolish flowers of tinsel, but beside these, many tokens of hearts, gold and silver, thick below the altar, crowding the partition walls.

The hearts were grateful ones--Alessandro explained in an undertone--brought and left by many who had been preserved from violent death by the saint there, and he who knelt was a workman just from hospital, who had fallen, with his son, from a building.

The boy had been killed, the father only badly hurt.
His heart token was the last--a little common thing--and tied with no rejoiceful ribbon but with a scrap of crape.

I hoped Heaven would see the crape as well as the tribute.

When we went away he was still kneeling in his patched blue cotton clothes, and as the saint had very beautiful kind eyes, and all the tinsel flowers were standing in the glowing light of stained glass, and the voice of the Church had begun to speak too, through the organ, I daresay he went away comforted.
Momma says there is only one thing she recollects clearly about San Lorenzo, and that is the Chapel of St.John the Baptist.