“God and St. Benedict sent a monk that way,” he continued. “This monk lifted me up, comforted me, gave me his arm, and took me to the convent, where the other monks restored me. Then I came away, but the monk stayed at the Sacro Speco.”
“And what has all this to do with it?” the gardener exclaimed.
“Simply this, that dressed as he was I did not at once know him; but afterwards I did. It was he.”
“Whom do you mean by he?”
“Benedetto.”
“Who was Benedetto?”
“The monk.”
“You are mad! You idiot!” the two men exclaimed together.
Jeanne gave the cripple a silver piece.
“Think well,” she said. “Tell the truth!”