He is at the Sacro Speco."

Jeanne turned eagerly towards him.

"At the Sacro Speco?" said she; and the gardener asked the beggar if he
himself had seen him there.

The cripple, more tearful than ever, told how more than an hour ago he
had been on the road to the Sacro Speco, beyond the grove of evergreen
oaks, only a few steps from the convent. He was carrying a bundle of
fagots, and had fallen badly, and could not rise again with his burden.

"God and St. Benedict sent a monk that way," he continued. "This monk
lifted me up, comforted me, gave me his arm, and took me to the convent,
where the other monks restored me. Then I came away, but the monk stayed
at the Sacro Speco."

"And what has all this to do with it?" the gardener exclaimed.

"Simply this, that dressed as he was I did not at once know him; but
afterwards I did. It was he."

"Whom do you mean by _he_?"

"Benedetto."

"Who was Benedetto?"

"The monk."

"You are mad! You idiot!" the two men exclaimed together.

Jeanne gave the cripple a silver piece.

"Think well," she said. "Tell the truth!"

The cripple overflowed with benedictions, mingling with them such humble
expressions as: "Just as you please, just as you please! I may have
been mistaken, I may have been mistaken," and with his string of pious
mumblings he took himself off. Jeanne again questioned the herder
and the gardener. Was it possible that Benedetto had taken the
habit?--Impossible! The beggar was only a poor fool.

Presently the herder left, and Jeanne, entering the kitchen-garden, sat
down tinder an olive tree, reflecting that Noemi could easily learn from
the door-keeper where to find her. The old gardener, whose curiosity
was aroused, asked, with many apologies, if she was a relative of
Benedetto's,

"For it is known that he is a gentleman, a rich man!" said he.

Jeanne did not answer his question. She wished rather to find out why
this belief in Piero's riches prevailed.--Well, you could see by his
manners and by his face; he really had the face of a gentleman.--And
he had not become a monk?--Well, no.--And why had he not become a
monk?--That was not known for a certainty, There were many tales told.
It was even said he had a wife, and that his wife had played him what
the gardener called "a mean trick." Jeanne was silent, and it suddenly
struck the gardener that she might be the wife, the woman who had played
the "mean trick." She had perhaps repented, and was come