is bed on to the pavement of his cell. As he fell, he
seemed to catch a glimpse, between his half-closed lids, of a nymph of
perfect shape and peerless beauty, whose naked body rolled over his like
waves of milk.

He woke in broad daylight, bruised and broken by his fall. The leaves of
the manuscript he had written the night before still littered the desk.
He read them through again, folded and sealed them with his seal, put
the roll inside his gown, and unheeding the menaces the witches had
twice over given him, started to carry his revelations to the Lord
Bishop, whose Palace lifted its battlements above the roofs in the
middle of the city. He found him donning his spurs in the Great Hall,
surrounded by his men-at-arms. For the Bishop was just then at war with
the Ghibellines of Florence. He asked the Monk to what he owed his
visit, and on being informed of the matter, invited him there and then
to read out his report. Fra Mino obeyed, and the Bishop heard out his
tale to the end. He had no special lights on the subject of apparitions;
but he was animated with an ardent zeal for the interests of the Faith.
Without a day's delay, and not suffering the cares of the War to
distract him from his purpose, he appointed twelve famous Doctors in
Theology and Canon Law to examine into the affair, urging them to give
a definite and speedy decision. After mature inquiry and not without
again and again cross-questioning Fra Mino, the Doctors determined the
best thing to do was to open the tomb of San Satiro in the Chapel of San
Michele, and go through a course of special exorcisms on the spot. As to
the points of doctrine raised by Fra Mino, they declined to pronounce a
formal opinion, inclining however to regard as rash, frivolous and
new-fangled the arguments advanced by the Franciscan.

Agreeably to the advice of the learned Doctors and by order of the
Bishop, the tomb of San Satiro was opened. It was found to contain
nothing but a handful of ashes, which the priests sprinkled with holy
water. At this there rose a white vapour, from which issued a sound of
faint and feeble groans.

The night following this pious ceremony Fra Mino dreamed that the
witches, bending over his bed, were tearing his heart out of his bosom.
He rose at dawn, tortured with sharp pains and devoured by a raging
thirst. He dragged himself as far as the cloister well, where the doves
used to drink. But no sooner had he drained down a few drops of water