Anything else
mattered little.
Gently he laid the wounded pigeon in his nest, just as Maria came with his
breakfast.
She was dazed, and at first did not understand what had happened; then
a light broke over her face and, reaching up, she smoothed the ruffled
feathers whispered, "Poor Chico! Poor Chico!" until a quiver of the eyelids
and the most pathetic of faint "coos" gave evidence that the sufferer
appreciated her sympathy.
In the meantime the word had spread, and cries of "Evviva Venezia! Evviva
Italia!" rent the air. People, mad with joy, marched up and down the narrow
streets unfurling flags shouting:
"Buone notizie! Buone notizie! Good news! Good news!"
The piazza became an animated place as groups of men, women, children
gathered, embracing one another, and longing to hear further details.
In the hospitals there was great excitement: it was difficult to restrain
the joyful demonstrations. When Luisa whispered the news in Pietro's ear,
he leaped out of bed in spite of his wounds, crying:
"The grande bird! I always said he would be game! Oh, but he's a sport!"
As for Chico, if he could have spoken he would have told a harrowing
tale. Thrown into the air with dozens of others, when all other means
of communication were interrupted, at first even _his_ stout heart was
appalled. One by one the others fluttered to the ground, afraid to attempt
the flight, and of the four who persisted, three fell, torn to pieces by
bullets.
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