That I will swear to! Not even Don
Clemente, who is most holy! Still he is not equal to Benedetto. No, no!"
The beggar's words suddenly sounded in Jeanne's heart. Benedetto a monk!
But why? It was discouraging to have them thus return, without a reason,
to her heart. Had not the two men said it was nonsense; that the cripple
was a fool? Yes, nonsense, she could see that herself; yes, a fool, he
had impressed her as such; but still the stupid words beat and throbbed
in her heart, as gruesome as masqueraders in comic masks would be should
they knock at your door at any other time save during Carnival!
"If you will wait, signora, in less than half an hour he is sure to be
here. _Che_! What am I saying? In a quarter of an hour. Perhaps he is in
the library studying with Don Clemente, or perhaps he is in the church."
The library, which runs across the narrow lane, communicates directly
with the kitchen-garden.
"There he is now!" the old man exclaimed.
Jeanne started to her feet. The door leading from the library to the
garden opened slowly.
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