The little band with the sufferers passed on, singing, their faces uplifted: "_Mater Christi_." The kneeling women answered with bowed heads: "_Ora pro nobis_." Then they rose, and followed the procession, while three or four women of Jenne said aloud: "He does not wish it, he does not wish it!" One of them explained to Maria that the Saint did not wish the sick brought to him.

Their words were not heeded, so they also joined the procession, anxious to see what would happen.
Maria and Giovanni also, who, at first, had been loath to do so, started on, following the eager Noemi.

Behind them, at a proper distance to indicate that they were spectators and not participants, came the students.

Alone, and at a much greater distance, walked the _carabinieri_, forming the end of this winding, snake-like line of people, which slipped into a crack between the dilapidated houses, huddled together opposite the church, and disappeared.
It disappeared, writhing through dark lanes, with pompous names, which lead to another side of the village, the most miserable, the most deformed part.

Here, on the steep and rocky hillside, loosely fastened to projections, to slabs of rock, the hovels, piled one above the other, slide downwards among the stones.