Upon hearing this Benedetto
would have departed at once had his strength allowed him. But he was not
in a condition to go a hundred paces.
"It will be for this one night only," he said.
He occupied a small room in the gardener's little house. He had hoped,
on entering it, to find the peace of the heart, but it was not to be.
They were driving him away even from here: that was what he said in his
heart to his poor little bed, to the poor furniture, to the few books,
to the smoky tallow-candle. Fixing his eyes on the Crucifix, which hung
above a footstool at the side of the bed, he groaned, with an effort of
his will: "How can I complain so bitterly of my crosses, Lord?"
In vain; his spirit had no living sense either of Christ or of the
Cross. He sat down in despair, not wishing to go to bed in this mood,
waiting for a drop of sweetness, which did not come. A gust of wind made
him turn his head towards the window, which had burst open. He saw a
great planet tip there in the brilliant sky, above the black battlements
of Porta San Paolo, and.
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