Nevertheless he was welcome, because I had no doubt of his relieving me from my difficulties,—­and whatever might be the power that sent him to me, I felt that I could not do better than to submit to its influence; the destiny of that monk was to escort me to Rome.

“Chi va piano va sano,” said the friar as soon as we were alone.  He had taken five days to traverse the road over which I had travelled in one day, but he was in good health, and he had met with no misfortune.  He told me that, as he was passing, he heard that an abbe, secretary to the Venetian ambassador at Rome, was lying ill at the inn, after having been robbed in Valcimara.  “I came to see you,” he added, “and as I find you recovered from your illness, we can start again together; I agree to walk six miles every day to please you.  Come, let us forget the past, and let us be at once on our way.”

“I cannot go; I have lost my purse, and I owe twenty paoli.”

“I will go and find the amount in the name of Saint-Francis.”

He returned within an hour, but he was accompanied by the infamous constable who told me that, if I had let him know who I was, he would have been happy to keep me in his house.  “I will give you,” he continued, “forty paoli, if you will promise me the protection of your ambassador; but if you do not succeed in obtaining it for me in Rome, you will undertake to repay me.  Therefore you must give me an acknowledgement of the debt.”

“I have no objection.”  Every arrangement was speedily completed; I received the money, paid my debts, and left Seraval with Stephano.

About one o’clock in the afternoon, we saw a wretched-looking house at a short distance from the road, and the friar said, “It is a good distance from here to Collefiorito; we had better put up there for the night.”  It was in vain that I objected, remonstrating that we were certain of having very poor accommodation!  I had to submit to his will.  We found a decrepit old man lying on a pallet, two ugly women of thirty or forty, three children entirely naked, a cow, and a cursed dog which barked continually.  It was a picture of squalid misery; but the niggardly monk, instead of giving alms to the poor people, asked them to entertain us to supper in the name of Saint-Francis.

“You must boil the hen,” said the dying man to the females, “and bring out of the cellar the bottle of wine which I have kept now for twenty years.”  As he uttered those few words, he was seized with such a fit of coughing that I thought he would die.  The friar went near him, and promised him that, by the grace of Saint-Francis, he would get young and well.  Moved by the sight of so much misery, I wanted to continue my journey as far as Collefiorito, and to wait there for Stephano, but the women would not let me go, and I remained.  After boiling for four hours the hen set the strongest teeth at defiance, and the bottle which I uncorked proved to be nothing but sour vinegar.  Losing patience, I got hold of the monk’s batticaslo, and took out of it enough for a plentiful supper, and I saw the two women opening their eyes very wide at the sight of our provisions.