arity, and set him down in Venice, where he had
friends, and he left his papers with us to show his gratitude. They will
just do for you."

"A repentant b-b-brigand? But w-what about the police?"

"Oh, that's all right! He finished his term of the galleys some years
ago, and has been going about to Jerusalem and all sorts of places
saving his soul ever since. He killed his son by mistake for somebody
else, and gave himself up to the police in a fit of remorse."

"Was he quite old?"

"Yes; but a white beard and wig will set that right, and the description
suits you to perfection in every other respect. He was an old soldier,
with a lame foot and a sabre-cut across the face like yours; and then
his being a Spaniard, too--you see, if you meet any Spanish pilgrims,
you can talk to them all right."

"Where am I to meet Domenichino?"

"You join the pilgrims at the cross-road that we will show you on the
map, saying you had lost your way in the hills. Then, when you reach the
town, you go with the rest of them into the marketplace, in front of the
Cardinal's palace."

"Oh, he manages to live in a p-palace, then, in s-spite of being a
saint?"

"He lives in one wing of it, and has turned the rest into a hospital.
Well, you all wait there for him to come out and give his benediction,
and Domenichino will come up with his basket and say: 'Are you one of
the pilgrims, father?' and you answer: 'I am a miserable sinner.' Then
he puts down his basket and wipes his face with his sleeve, and you
offer him six soldi for a rosary."

"Then, of course, he arranges where we can talk?"

"Yes; he will have plenty of time to give you the address of the
meeting-place while the people are gaping at Montanelli. That was our
plan; but if you don't like it, we can let Domenichino know and arrange
something else."

"No; it will do; only see that the beard and wig look natural."

*****

"Are you one of the pilgrims, father?"

The Gadfly, sitting on the steps of the episcopal palace, looked up
from under his ragged white locks, and gave the password in a husky,
trembling voice, with a strong foreign accent. Domenichino slipped
the leather strap from his shoulder, and set down his basket of pious
gewgaws on the step. The crowd of peasants and pilgrims sitting on the
steps and lounging about the market-place was taking no notice of
them, but for precaution's sake they kept up a desultory conversation,
Domenichino speaking in the lo