“Ah, the pity of it—­the pity of it!” Fra Giulio had exclaimed.  “They should show mercy—­he is still so young a man!”

“Ay, young enough to need much discipline,” bravely muttered a friar who dared to disbelieve in their prodigy.

“Silence!” commanded Father Gianmaria, who was now the Superior, in a stentorian tone; for within these walls there was no appeal from his judgment or his temper.  “The man who speaks only what he knows is old in wisdom;” and turning he addressed the company in great dignity:  “It doth appear that Rome approveth Fra Paolo’s rendering and hath gravely censured the Inquisitor who hath cited him, commanding him to meddle only with that of which he hath some understanding.”

“There are then tale-bearers whose jealousy would ruin our Paolo!” Fra Giulio had exclaimed in anxiety.

“It was none other than Fra Paolo himself who carried the tale,” the Superior retorted in scorn of the old man’s weak affection.  “Fra Paolo refused to appear before the Inquisitor who had cited him, who, he alleged, knew not Hebrew nor Greek, and had therefore no knowledge upon which to base his judgment; and on this ground Fra Paolo appealed to Rome.”

“It were a pity,” said a gentle-faced young friar, who had been listening silently, but with an expression of deep and affectionate interest, “that one of so rare learning should remain long in a position of danger to orthodoxy.  Already the Court of Mantua hath been censured by the Holy Father for heretical opinions.”

“Nay; but for harboring heretics, hunted and driven,” Fra Giulio corrected warmly.  “There be deeds of mercy that will be forgiven us.”

A look of perplexity crossed the candid, boyish face of Fra Francesco.

“But the law of obedience is more simple,” he said timidly; “and our Holy Father—­”

“Thou, not yet out of thy novitiate, doest well, verily, to prate of obedience and doctrines,” interrupted Father Gianmaria, less severely than he was wont to treat such breaches of etiquette; for Fra Francesco had deep, spiritual, loving eyes, in which an unuttered wonder sometimes seemed to chide, for all his gentleness; and his ways were winsome.

So, through the years, whether he were present or absent, the life of the convent had centered about Fra Paolo, who now, after many missions of importance, had once more returned to his old cell in the Servi, with another added for his books and labors, since often it suited him to be alone.  The breath of jealousy still clouded the serenity of his sky, and he was not without some unfulfilled longings; but no scandal had ever touched him.  He was great enough now to be smitten through his friends, and the good Fra Giulio had been the victim taken in his stead; upon Fra Paolo’s last homecoming to the convent the loving, fatherly greeting had failed him.

“Ask the nuns, to whom he is father confessor; they will have no other, and refuse admittance to one of our order who hath been sent to take this duty upon him.  And our good Fra Giulio hath been removed in humiliation, and languisheth in Bologna, by order of the Patriarch who hath been won by the tale of one who loveth thee not.”