The vast crimson zone rose slowly from the horizon to the zenith and bade fair to cover the whole vault of heaven.  An undulating vapor of molten metal seemed pouring down on the roofs of the town; and in the descending crepuscule yellow and violet rays flashed through a trembling and iridescent glow.  One long streak brighter than the others pointed towards a street which opened on the river-front, and at the end of this street the water flamed away between the tall slim poplar-trunks, and beyond the stream lay a strip of luxuriant country, from which the old Saracen towers stood out confusedly, like stone islets, in the dark.  The air was full of the stifling emanations of mown hay, with now and then a whiff from putrefied silkworms in the bushes.  Flights of swallows crossed this space with quick, scolding cries, trafficking between the river sands and the eaves.

An expectant silence had interrupted the murmur of the multitude.  The name Pallura ran from lip to lip.  Signs of angry impatience broke forth here and there.  The wagon was not yet to be seen along the river-road; the candles had not come; Don Consolo therefore was delaying the exposition of the relics and the acts of exorcism; the danger still threatened.  Panic fear invaded the hearts of all those people crowded together like a flock of sheep, and no longer venturing to raise their eyes to heaven.  The women burst out sobbing, and at the sound of weeping every mind was oppressed and filled with consternation.

Then at last the bells began to ring.  As they were hung low, their deep quivering strokes seemed to graze the heads of the people, and a sort of continuous wailing filled the intervals.

“San Pantaleone!  San Pantaleone!”

It was an immense, unanimous cry of desperate men imploring aid.  Kneeling, with blanched faces and outstretched hands, they supplicated.

“San Pantaleone!”

Then, at the church door, in the midst of the smoke of two censers, Don Consolo appeared, resplendent in a violet chasuble, with gold embroidery.  He held aloft the sacred arm of silver, and conjured the air, shouting the Latin words: 

“Ut fidelibus tuis aeris serenitatem concedere digneris.  Te rogamus, audi nos.”

At sight of the relic the multitude went delirious with affectionate joy.  Tears ran from all eyes, and through glistening tears these eyes beheld a miraculous gleam emanate from the three fingers held up as if in the act of benediction.  The arm appeared larger now, in the enkindled air.

The dim light awoke strange scintillations in the precious stones.  The balsamic odor of incense spread quickly to the nostrils of the devotees.

“Te rogamus, audi nos!”

But when the arm was carried back and the tolling stopped, in that moment of silence a tinkling of little bells was heard near at hand coming from the river road.  Then of a sudden the crowd rushed in that direction and many voices cried: