I + 

Teresa Boselli stood and faced Maddalena with the parlor table between them; on the table was lying that short official letter⁠—the cold, white messenger of death. + 

“I have come,” said Maddalena, “because it was my duty, and because Gian-Luca would have wished it.” + 

“You have come,” said Teresa, “because he was my grandson, the child of my only child.” + 

Maddalena’s face was as white as the paper, and her mothering eyes were tearless. “Tomorrow I go to Lyndhurst,” she answered; “Father Antonio has promised to go with me, and Rosa, who loved her foster-son, and Mario and old Nerone.” Her voice was quite steady but curiously toneless, as though a dead creature were speaking. + 

“I also will accompany you,” said Teresa. + 

“Why?” inquired Maddalena. + 

Teresa Boselli drew herself up, and her hard, black eyes were defiant. “Why?” she said harshly; “because my blood calls. Was he not the child of my child?” + 

Then Maddalena’s eyes grew as hard as Teresa’s, and her gentle face stiffened to anger. “Too late you remember,” she answered coldly, “you who would never love Gian-Luca.” + 

After that they were silent, staring at each other, while their bitterness leapt out between them; the little back parlor was trembling with it, with the dull, heavy thuds of their hearts. Maddalena quietly picked up the letter, which she thrust into the bosom of her dress, then she turned and went out of the Casa Boselli⁠—leaving Teresa alone. + 

Six black-clad figures got down from the train when it stopped at Lyndhurst station. + 

“This must be the lot that have come for the inquest,” whispered a porter to his friend. + 

Very calm and noble looked Maddalena, clothed in the weeds of her affliction; she walked straight forward into her grief, like the brave Roman matron that she was. Her eyes held no hope and no resentment, they were filled with the finality of fate; and after her followed Teresa Boselli, scarcely less steadfast and upright. + 