us again, and looking Coretti straight in the eye, reached his hand out of the carriage.
Coretti gave one leap forwards and clasped it. The carriage passed on; the crowd broke in and separated us; we lost sight of the elder Coretti. But it was only for a moment. We found him again directly, panting, with wet eyes, calling for his son by name, and holding his hand on high. His son flew towards him, and he said, “Here, little one, while my hand is still warm!” and he passed his hand over the boy's face, saying, “This is a caress from the King.”
And there he stood, as though in a dream, with his eyes fixed on the distant carriage, smiling, with his pipe in his hand, in the centre of a group of curious people, who were staring at him. “He's one of the fourth battalion of the forty-ninth!” they said. “He is a soldier that knows the King.” “And the King recognized him.” “And he offered him his hand.” “He gave the King a petition,” said one, more loudly.
“No,” replied Coretti, whirling round abruptly; “I did not give him any petition. But there is something else that I would give him, if he were to ask it of me.”
They all stared at him.
“My blood,” he said simply.
THE INFANT ASYLUM
After breakfast yesterday my mother took me, as she had promised, to the Infant Asylum in the Corso Valdocco, in order to recommend to the directress a
