Then I said to myself: 'By St. Catherine, this man
is a saint!' And a saint he certainly is!"
While he was speaking a poor cripple passed, a beggar from Subiaco.
Seeing a lady, he stopped and held out his hat. Jeanne, completely
absorbed in what the herder was saying, did not notice him, nor did she
hear him when--the herder having ceased speaking--he begged for alms,
for the love of God. She asked the gardener where this Benedetto was to
be found. The man scratched his head, doubtful how to answer. Then the
beggar groaned out in a mournful voice:
"You are seeking Benedetto? He is at the Sacro Speco."
Jeanne turned eagerly towards him.
"At the Sacro Speco?" said she; and the gardener asked the beggar if he
himself had seen him there.
The cripple, more tearful than ever, told how more than an hour ago he
had been on the road to the Sacro Speco, beyond the grove of evergreen
oaks, only a few steps from the convent. He was carrying a bundle of
fagots, and had fallen badly, and could not rise again with his burden.
"God and St.
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