Another knock was heard, more
gentle than the first. The Abbot exclaimed.
"_Seccatore_! Some bore!"
After some angry chords he began playing chromatic scales. From
chromatic scales he passed to broken chords. Then he listened again for
three or four minutes. Hearing nothing more he went to open the door,
and perceived Benedetto, who fell upon his knees.
"Who are you?" he demanded roughly.
"My name is Piero Maironi," Benedetto answered; "but here at the
monastery they call me Benedetto."
And he made a movement to take the Abbot's hand and kiss it.
"One moment," said the Abbot, frowning, withdrawing and raising his
hand. "What are you doing here?"
"I work in the kitchen garden," Benedetto replied.
"Fool!" exclaimed the Abbot. "I ask what you are doing here outside my
door?"
"I was coming to see you, Padre."
"Who told you to come to me?"
"Don Clemente."
The Abbot was silent, and studied the kneeling man for some time; then
he grumbled something incomprehensible, and offered him his hand to
kiss.
"Rise!" said he, still sharply.
Pages:
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205