“Holy man of God! You have healed this one, now heal the other also!”
Benedetto replied, almost under his breath, trembling violently:
“I am not a holy man; I did not heal this one, and for the other one of whom you speak, I can only pray.”
When they had told him that the sick man was their brother, that he was in the hut, stretched on the bed, and suffering greatly, Benedetto said to Don Clemente: “Let us go and care for him!”
And he started forward with his master. Behind them the divided stream of people flowed together again, noisily. Benedetto turned, and forbade them to follow him; he ordered the women to attend to the young girl, who must not climb the steep hill on foot, under the burning rays of the sun. He ordered them to take her to the inn, put her to bed and refresh her with food and wine. Those who were following stopped, and the others stepped aside, allowing him to pass. The student who had once before asked to speak, approached him respectfully, and inquired if he and some of his friends might speak a few words with him alone, later on.
“Oh yes!” Benedetto answered, consenting with manly warmth and eagerness. Noemi, who was standing near, took heart.
“I also must ask for five minutes,” she said in French, blushing; and then it immediately occurred to her she had thus shown that she knew him to be a man of culture; her face was aflame, as she repeated her petition in Italian.
Almost involuntarily Don Clemente pressed Benedetto’s arm gently. Benedetto replied courteously, but somewhat drily:
“Do you wish to do a kind action? Care for that poor girl.”
And he passed on.