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"
She was more beautiful still when she smiled and the anxiety died out of
her girlish face for a moment, in gratitude for the sympathy.
"Eccellenza, thanks," she answered simply; "he has a beautiful face.
Sometimes when he has flowers in his little hand he smiles and is quite
still."
But the radiant look passed swiftly with the remembrance of the pain
that would come to the child on waking, and she kissed the tiny fingers
that lay over the edge of her mantle with a movement of irrepressible
tenderness, lapsing at once into reverie; while the artist, full of the
enthusiasm of creation, stood dreaming of his picture. This Holy Mother
should be greater, more compassionate, nearer to the people than any
Madonna he had ever painted; for never had he noted in any face before
such a passion of love and pity. In that moment of stillness the sunset
lights, intensifying, cast a glow about her; the child, half-waking,
stretched up his tiny hand and touched her cheek with a rare caress, and
the light in her face was a radiance never to be forgotten.


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