The
Pope seemed the more embarrassed. He himself was calm.
"You are accused of having pretended at Jenne to be a miracle-worker,
and by this boasting of yours, to have caused the death in your own
house of an unfortunate man. They even assert that he died of certain
drinks you gave him. You are accused of having preached to the people
more as a Protestant than as a Catholic, and also----"
The Holy Father hesitated. His virginal purity recoiled from alluding to
certain things.
"Of having been over-intimate with the village schoolmistress. What can
you answer, my son?"
"Holy Father," Benedetto said calmly, "the Spirit is answering for me in
your heart."
The Pontiff fixed his eyes on him, in great astonishment; but he was not
only astonished, he was also much troubled; for it was as if Benedetto
had read in his soul. A slight flush coloured his face.
"Explain your meaning," he said.
"God has allowed me to read in your heart that you do not believe any of
these accusations."
At these words of Benedetto's, the Pope knit his brows slightly.
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