He had given him the painful message,
and after a long discussion, had promised to say certain things which
Benedetto wished said, to those who called him a saint. He also heard
the hubbub of the crowd which was coming down; the cry of "The Saint!
The Saint!" And when Benedetto said to him, smiling: "_Padre mio!_" his
face paled, but he made a gesture of acquiescence, and stepped forward.
Benedetto dropped his scythe and went a few steps away from the path.
He sat down behind a rock and a great apple tree covered with blossoms,
which hid him from those who were approaching. Don Clemente faced the
crowd alone.
On perceiving him they stopped. Several voices said. "It is not he!"
Other voices answered "He is behind!" While others in the rear-guard
called out "Press forward!" The column moved on.
Then Don Clemente raised his hand and said:
"Listen!"
This man who could not speak to two strangers without blushing was now
very pale. His soft, sweet voice hardly made itself heard, but the
gesture was seen. The beautiful, peaceful face, the tall figure,
inspired reverence.
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