"God called me to withdraw
from the world, and I withdrew from It."

The Abbot was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed upon the young man,
and then he said with ironical gentleness:

"No, my friend!"

He took out his snuff-box, shook it, repeating "No, no, no," rapidly and
almost under his breath; he examined the snuff, dipped his fingers into
it, raised his eyes once more to Benedetto's face, and, emphasising each
word, said:

"That is not true!"

Grasping the pinch with his thumb, his forefinger, and his middle
finger, he raised his hand swiftly, as though about to throw the snuff
into the air, and, with his arm suspended, continued to speak.

"It is probably true enough that you were a great sinner, but it is not
true that you withdrew from the world. You are neither in it nor out of
it."

He took his pinch of snuff with a loud noise, and went on:

"Neither in it nor out of it!"

Benedetto looked at him without answering. In those eyes there was
something so serious and so sweet, that the Abbot lowered his to the
open snuff-box, once more dipping his fingers into it and toying with
the snuff.

"I do not understand you," he said.

"You are of the world, and still you are not of it. You are in the
monastery, and still you are not in the monastery. I fear your head
serves you no better than your great-grandfather's, your grandfather's,
and your father's served them. Fine heads, those!"

Benedetto's ivory face flushed slightly.

"They are souls with God," he said, "better than we are, and your words
offend against one of God's commandments."

"Silence!" the Abbot exclaimed. "You say you have renounced the world,
and you are full of worldly pride. If you really wished to renounce the
world, you should have tried to become a novice! Why did you not attempt
this? You wished to come here _in villeggiatura_, for an outing, that is
the truth of the matter. Or perhaps you were under certain obligations
at home, there were certain troublesome matters--you know what I mean!
_Nec nominentur in nobis_. And you wished to rid yourself of these
troubles, only to get yourself into fresh ones. You tell stories to that
simple-minded Don Clemente; you usurp the place of a poor pilgrim; and
perhaps--eh?--you hoped with prayers and sacraments to throw dust in the
eyes of the monks, which is an easy matter enough, and even in the eyes
of the Almighty Himself, which is a far more difficult matter. You do
not deny this!"