"
In speaking of going to Subiaco or elsewhere, Benedetto had said
"perhaps that, perhaps something else," with an accent so full of
meaning that, when Don Clemente bade him farewell, he murmured:
"Are you thinking of Rome?"
Instead of answering, Benedetto gently took from his hands the bundle
containing the poor tunic, which had been bestowed and then withdrawn,
and with trembling hands raised it to his lips, pressing them to it; he
let them rest there a long time.
Was it regret for the days of peace, of labour, of prayer, of gospel
words? Was it the anticipation of a luminous hour in the future?
He gave the bundle back into his master's hands.
"Farewell!" said he.
Don Clemente hastened away.
The room the master of the house had set apart for Benedetto's use
contained a large sofa, a small square table, covered with a yellowish
cloth; over which a blue floral pattern sprawled; a few shaky chairs;
one or two armchairs, their stuffing showing through the rents in the
old and faded leather; and two portraits of bewigged ancestors in
tarnished frames.
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