"Acqua Acetosa!" "Roba Vecchia!" "Rannocchie!"
The street cries were ringing through the Navona, the piazza was alive
with people, and strangers were saluting each other as they passed on
the pavement when Roma returned home. At the lodge the Garibaldian
wished her a good Easter, and at the door of the apartment the curate of
the parish, who in cotta and biretta was making his Easter call to
sprinkle the rooms with holy water, gave her a smile and his blessing,
while old Francesca, inside the house, laying the Easter sideboard of
cakes, sausages, and eggs, put both hands behind her back, like a child
playing a game, and cried--
"Now, what does the Signora think I've got for her?"
It was a letter, and as the old woman produced it she was glowing with
happiness at the joy she was bringing to Roma.
"The porter from Trinità de' Monti brought it," she said, "and he told
me to tell you there's a lay sister called Sister Angelica at the
convent now, and he is afraid that other letters may go astray....
Aren't you glad you've got a letter, Signora? I thought Signora would
die of delight, and I gave the man six soldi."
Roma was turning the envelope over and over in her hands, thinking what
a call to joy a letter of Rossi's used to be, and wondering if she ought
to open this one.
"Well, that was the way with me too when Tommaso was at the wars. But
this is Easter, Signora, and the Blessed Virgin wouldn't bring you bad
news to-day. Listen! That's the Gloria. I can always hear the church
bells on Holy Saturday. The first time after I was deaf Joseph was a
baby, and I took the wrappings off his little feet while the bells were
ringing, and he walked straight away! Ah, my poor darling!... But I'm
making the Signora cry."