She would ask him what his
own religion really was. And then what if he should answer something
foolish, something commonplace? For this reason she was almost afraid to
speak to him.
A dash of rain splashed through a broken window upon the pavement. It
seemed to Noemi she could never forget that hour, that great empty
church, that dark sky, that dash of rain like falling tears, that
world's outcast on the steps of the high altar, absorbed in what sublime
thoughts God alone knew, and the sacristan, his enemy, who had gone to
sleep on the steps of another altar, with the easy familiarity of a
colleague of the Almighty. Some time elapsed, perhaps an hour, perhaps
more. The church grew lighter; the rain seemed to be stopping. It struck
four o'clock. Don Clemente entered the church, followed by Maria and
Giovanni who were glad to find Noemi there, for they had not known where
she was. The sacristan, who knew Don Clemente, came forward.
"_Dunque_? The viaticum?"
The viaticum? Alas, the man was dead; they had thought of the viaticum
too late! The Padre inquired for Benedetto, and Noemi pointed to where
he sat.
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