Don Clemente bared his head, and began to recite the _Angelus Domini_.

Benedetto, erect, his hands clasped, said it with him, and, as long as the bells continued to ring, kept his gaze fixed on the young man who had shouted to him to speak; his eyes were full of sadness, of mystic sweetness.

That ineffable look, the pealing of the solemn-voiced bells, the trembling of the grass, the gentle waving in the breeze of the flowery branches, the rapt expression of so many tearful faces, all turned towards this one face, were blended for Noemi into a single word, which thrilled her while it evaded her, as the soul is tormented by the longing for that occult word which underlies a tragic procession of harmonious chords.

The bells ceased, and Benedetto said gently to those nearest him: "Who are you, and what has happened that you come to me as if I were that which I am not ?" Several voices answered at once; he was informed of the miracle, and of how he was wanted in this village and in that.
"You exalt me," said he, "because you are blind.

If this girl is healed, not I have healed her, but her faith has made her whole.