e you unclean with
hatred, or with any impurity whatsoever? Then go! Jesus will not
have you in the church! "_Ma che_!" said Torquato, "The discourse was
nothing, it was the face, the voice, the eyes!"

The worthy man spoke as if he himself had been present, telling how the
crowd had thrown themselves upon their knees and wept, and how certain
women, who were enemies, had embraced each other. In fact there had been
only women and old men present, for the men of Jenne are all shepherds
at Nettuno and Anzio, and do not return to the hills before the end of
June. The Saint seeing them so penitent, had said: "Enter and kneel. God
is within you. Worship Him in silence." Then the crowd had entered, a
perfect multitude! They had fallen upon their knees, all of them, and
for a quarter of an hour--according to Torquato--you could have heard
a fly winging in the great church. The Saint had then intoned the "Our
Father" in a loud voice, and, the crowd lifting their voices and joining
in, he had gone through it, stopping at each verse. Torquato told how
the parish priest, having heard all this, kissed his guest, and as
he kissed him he was cured of his fever! Then the people came to the
canonica--the priest's house--bringing the sick, that the Saint might
bless and heal them. He would not do this, but all those who succeeded
in touching his habit, even by stealth were healed. And many had come to
him for advice. Then there had been a great miracle concerning a mule,
which turned ugly on the steep path down the slope, and which was about
to throw its rider upon the rocks. The Saint, who was present, being on
his way up from the Infernillo with water, had stretched out his hand,
and the mule had become quiet on the instant!

Maria told the story as she had heard it from the forester.

"I wonder if it is all as true as the part about the prince of royal
blood!" said Noemi.

"To-morrow we shall know," Giovanni answered, rising.

II. They started at about six o'clock; the sky was cloudy; and a cool breeze
was blowing, fragrant with the odours of the woods and the hills, alive
with the tiny, gay voices of birds, purifying to the soul itself. At the
Baths of Nero they took the mule-path which leads into the narrow, green
ravine, winding upwards on the right of the Anio. High up on the left
they saw Santa Scolastica, the Sacro Speco, and the House of the Blessed
Lawrence, all white below the rocks, which are the colour of iron. They