Whether it be the priests that have bewitched
her--may the Holy Madonna have mercy, and curse them for it!--or whether
she be truly the Blessed Virgin of San Donato come to earth again, one
knows not. But, Messer Magagnati,"--and the voice came solemnly from the
dark figure dimly outlined against the gray darkness beyond the iron
bars,--"thy daughter is dying for this curse of the Most Holy
Father--'il mal anno che Dio le dia!' (may heaven make him suffer for
it!)--and she hath no peace in Venice. _She will never forget nor
change_. If thy love be great, as thou hast said, thou wilt find some
way to help her. _For in Venice she hath no peace_."
The old merchant, dazed by Piero's hot words, was a pitiful figure,
standing, desolate, behind the closed bars of his gate, the night wind
lifting his long beard and parting the thin gray locks that flowed from
under his cap, while he called and beckoned impotently to Piero to
return, repeating meanwhile mechanically, with no perception of their
meaning, those strange words of Piero's--"_In Venice she hath no
peace_.
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