'He is a pestilent fellow, this Don Faustino of ours!' said the prudent miller shaking his head; 'his life hangs by a thread, yet see how he storms. For my part, I rejoice they have found the treasure.'
'They say the image is of silver.'
'Silver? Nay, I saw it myself, and 'tis of marble; naked and shameless.'
'Lord forgive us! Are we to soil our hands for such rubbish as that?'
'Whither art going, Zacchello?'
'To the field; to my work.'
'God go with you! And I'll to the vineyard.'
At this all the fury of the priest was let loose on his parishioners.
'Infidel dogs, abortions of Cain! would you abandon your pastor? Know ye not, spawn of Satan, that did I not pray for you day and night, and beat my breast with weeping and fasting, your whole sinful village would long ere this have been sunk into the earth? But it is ended! I leave you, shaking off the dust from my feet. Cursed be the land! Cursed the corn and the water and the flocks; and your sons and your sons' sons. I am your father, your shepherd no more. I renounce you! Anathema!'