found her in her bed unconscious when she failed to appear during the day. She was fond of the old woman. She had grown used to her. Sister Annunziata knew her. It was the old woman who dressed so queerly and ran about the streets of Brinoë in all weathers.
She talked rapidly and with excitement while Sister Annunziata listened. The gaunt nun had a curious air of humility as if she wanted desperately to please, not only Sister Maria Maddelena but even the janitress.
"I will come," she said. "If she is dying we must fetch a priest. Is she a believer? In the true faith?"
"I do not know," said the janitress. "She goes often to the church, mostly to San Giovanni. She is devout and religious."
"I will come," repeated Sister Annunziata in her deep masculine voice. She turned and disappeared through the doorway, leaving the janitress to savor her triumph over Sister Maria Maddelena. In a moment she returned with a small bag. Without another word the two women set out through the dark, narrow streets. As they stepped through the doorway the wind from Africa blew into their faces like the wind out of an oven. They made haste, for Sister Annunziata had another soul upon her conscience. She walked with the stride of a man, her big feet and long legs covering in one step the distance covered by two steps of the stout short janitress. The streets were empty and they passed no one all the way to the gloomy archway that was the entrance to the ruined Palazzo Gonfarini.
