The visitors did not know
what path they were following, and Jeanne hardly felt the reality of it
all.
While descending the Scala Santa--the Holy Staircase--the monk leading
and Jeanne following closely, while Noemi came last, some five or six
steps behind, Jeanne, suddenly throwing out her hands, clutched
the guide's shoulder, and then, ashamed of her involuntary action,
immediately withdrew them, while the monk, who was greatly astonished,
stopped, and turned his head towards her.
"Pardon me!" she said. "Who is that father?"
Between two landings of the Scala, behind a projection of the left wall,
a figure, all black in the habit of the Benedictines, stood, erect and
still, in the dark corner, its forehead resting against the marble,
Jeanne had passed it by four or five steps without having perceived
it, then she had chanced to look round, and had seen it, while an
instinctive suspicion flashed through her trembling heart.
The monk answered:
"He is not a father, signora."
He bent down to unlock the low gate of a chapel.
"What is the matter?" Noemi inquired, drawing near.
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