Benedict sent a monk that way," he continued. "This monk
lifted me up, comforted me, gave me his arm, and took me to the convent,
where the other monks restored me. Then I came away, but the monk stayed
at the Sacro Speco."
"And what has all this to do with it?" the gardener exclaimed.
"Simply this, that dressed as he was I did not at once know him; but
afterwards I did. It was he."
"Whom do you mean by _he_?"
"Benedetto."
"Who was Benedetto?"
"The monk."
"You are mad! You idiot!" the two men exclaimed together.
Jeanne gave the cripple a silver piece.
"Think well," she said. "Tell the truth!"
The cripple overflowed with benedictions, mingling with them such humble
expressions as: "Just as you please, just as you please! I may have
been mistaken, I may have been mistaken," and with his string of pious
mumblings he took himself off. Jeanne again questioned the herder
and the gardener. Was it possible that Benedetto had taken the
habit?--Impossible! The beggar was only a poor fool.
Presently the herder left, and Jeanne, entering the kitchen-garden, sat
down tinder an olive tree, reflecting that Noemi could easily learn from
the door-keeper where to find her.
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