t people
who had come from Rome out of curiosity about the Saint of Jenne, were
holding a consultation; the party consisted of three ladies and four
gentlemen, and was under the guidance of the citizen of Jenne, whom the
Selvas had met on the hillside. On perceiving the Benedictine they spoke
together rapidly, in an undertone, and then one of their number, a very
fashionably dressed young man, screwed his eyeglass into his eye,
and came towards Don Clemente, at whom the ladies were looking with
admiration, and also with disappointment, their guide having informed
them that he was not the Saint.

These people also wished for an interview with Benedetto. The ladies
were especially anxious to speak with him. The young man added, with a
derisive smile, that for his part, he did not consider himself worthy,
Don Clemente answered very shortly, that for the present it was
impossible to speak with Benedetto and he walked away. The young man
informed the ladies that the Saint was in the tabernacle, under lock and
key!

In the meantime Benedetto--although the distracted mother implored
him not to use medicines, but to perform a miracle--was comforting the
prostrate man with a few mouthfuls of the cordial Giovanni Selva had
brought, but still more comforting were his gentle caresses, and the
promise of other saving words, which would soon be brought to him. And
the pitying voice, tender and grave, worked a miracle of peace. The sick
man breathed with great difficulty, and still groaned, but he no longer
cursed. The mother, wild with hope, murmured tearfully, with clasped
hands.

"The miracle, the miracle, the miracle!"

"_Caro_ [dear one]," Benedetto said, "you are in God's hand, and
you feel its might. Give yourself up to Him, and you will feel its
gentleness. Let His hand place you once more in the ocean of life, or
place you in heaven, or place you where it will, but give yourself up,
do not think of that. When you were a little child your mother carried
you, and you asked neither how, nor when, nor why; you were in her
arms, you were in her love, you asked nothing more. It is the same now,
_caro_. I, who speak to you, have done much evil in my life, perhaps
you also have done a little evil; perhaps you remember it. Weep, weep,
resting thus on the bosom of the Father who is calling you, who longs to
pardon, who longs to forget it all. Presently the priest will come, and
you will tell him everything, all the evil you have d