Note: Translator Pauline Bancroft Flach died in 1966, less than 70 years ago. Therefore, this work is protected by copyright, restricting your legal rights to reproduce it. However, you are welcome to view it on screen, as you do now. Read more about copyright.
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THE SIROCCO
137
It seemed to her a sign that she was predestined
to destruction, that she was also losing Don
Ferrante. Who would have any regard for her when
he was no longer alive?
She watched over him. She and all the women
of the quarter sat in silent prayer about his bed.
One morning, towards six o’clock, Don Ferrante
died. And Donna Micaela mourned him, because
he had been her only protector, and the only one
who could have saved her from destruction; and she
wished to honor the dead, as is still the custom in
Diamante.
She had them drape the room where the body was
lying with black, and close all the shutters, so that
the glad sunlight should not enter. She had all the
fires put out on the hearths, and sent for a blind
singer to come to the palace every day and sing
dirges.
She let Giannita care for Cavaliere Palmeri, so
that she herself might sit quiet in the death-room,
among the other women.
It was evening on the day of death before all
preparations were completed, and they were waiting
only for the White Brotherhood to come and take
away the corpse. In the death-chamber there was
the silence of the grave. All the women of the
quarter sat there motionless with dismal faces.
Donna Micaela sat pale with her great fear, and
stared involuntarily at the pall that was spread over
the body. It was a pall which belonged to the
family; their coat of arms was heavily and gorgeously
embroidered on the centre, and it had silver fringes
and thick tassels. The pall had never been spread
over any one but an Alagona. It seemed to lie there
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