A little passage separated the large workshop from the inner studio.

The door at the end was not quite closed.

Lucia went up to it, and looked through the opening to see whether Gianbattista were with her father.

The sight she saw was so surprising that she leaned against the door-post for support.

She could not believe her eyes.
There was her father in his woollen blouse, kneeling, on the brick floor of the room, before a crucifix, his back turned towards her, his hands raised, and, as it seemed from the position of the arms, folded in prayer.