The meal ended, they returned to the living room. The old woman fussed
at the wick of the lamp and then placed a book close to the light and
opened it at the page marked by a bit of paper. The archbishop smiled.
"She takes good care of me, my Marianna. Once she lost my place, but
she is very careful."
Derby looked at the page beneath the flickering dimness. "Does Your
Eminence read by this light?"
"Oh, yes, a little. By day I can see nearly as well as ever, but in the
evening I can read only the books that have large print--and only for a
little time. But what would you have, Signore? My eyesight may not any
longer be like that of a boy." Then he added: "The good sun brings now
each day a longer time to read, and perhaps by the time another winter
makes the days again grow short, I shall be near the Great Light that
knows no setting."
"You might have a good lamp and see very well," suggested Derby.
"A lamp? But in this I burn olive oil. It is very good oil, Signore--no
one makes it better than Marianna! The reading at night is only for
young eyes." Again he smiled.
With difficulty he wrote a letter of direction to Padre Filippo and
affixed his seal. Also he promised that two _carabinieri_ should be at
the inn at eight o'clock on the following morning, to accompany the
expedition to the mines.
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