So far they had asked only for
news. Now they demanded that a deputation be allowed to enter, and to
see him. The servants refused to take the message, and an exchange of
angry words was the result, which, however, suddenly stopped as
the tall, dark figure of Professor Mayda appeared, coming from the
orange-grove. The men took off their hats. He ordered the gate to be
opened, told the people that all should see Benedetto later, but not
now. In the meantime they might come into the garden. "Of course, poor
things!"
And the people entered, slowly, respectfully, some gathering around the
Professor and asking, with tears in their eyes:
"Is it true, _Signor Professore_? Is it true he is dying? Tell us!"
And behind them others pressed, anxiously awaiting the answer. The
answer was only:
"Alas! What can I say to you?"
But the sad, manly face said more than the words and the crowd moved
away mournfully, along the green slopes, which had taken on a livid hue
under the black sky streaked with white and formed a mystic symbol of
death, of the dark passage from terrestrial shadows to the upper regions
of infinite brightness.
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