Now the old man seemed comforted,
now anxious questions broke from his lips; then, all of a sudden, the
gentle stream of words restored the happy look to his face. Meanwhile,
the little crippled woman came and went between her own room and her
neighbour's door, clasping her rosary, and divided between her anxiety
at that decisive moment to get in as many _Ave Marias_ as possible, and
the desire to hear if they were talking in there and what they were
saying.
But down below, in the street, a crowd had begun to gather of people
who, regardless of the bad weather, were anxious to see the Saint of
Jenne. A woman who kept a little shop had seen him enter with his roses,
accompanied by the little hunchback. In an instant about fifty persons
were standing around the door, women for the most part, some wishing
only to see him, others eager for a word from him. They waited
patiently, speaking in low tones as if they had been in church; speaking
of Benedetto, of the miracles he performed, of the blessings they were
going to implore him to grant.
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