"Do you mean that you are going to rip them up?"
"But yes, in the manner which I have learned of the chef from Naples. Now I watch them. When I shall have seen them make a movement, behold the tripes of them sliced precipitatissimamente!"
"Iulo. No. Understand? No."
"There is not of dishonour! First like this, I demonstrate the knife—they view the mode of their deaths. There is in it nothing of sly—— Next, I give them the death which they have merit. That is not the deed of a dishonourable."
"You are commanded not to give death—not to think of giving death. It is prohibited. O Viniti, quo vadis? Understand? Bury the knife in the garden. Sotterratelo nel giardino, Vinizio mio. Capisce? Break it first. Then bury it in the garden—— If you wish to be protector of Hadrian, learn to fight with fists—pugni. Understand?
Tell John to buy a punching-bag—punching-bag—and practise on that."
"Bai a punnertchingerbagger," repeated the devout murderer-in-posse with disappointment, as the Pope left him limp.
A sign drew Cardinal Van Kristen to walk by Hadrian's side on the return from San Pietro and Vincula on Lammas Day. From time to time, his shy grand eyes turned to the Pope as they rhythmically paced along. From time to time, a blessing fluttered from the Apostle's hand to some stranger by the road-side.
"Holiness," at length he said, "do you remember the saint You used to worship on this day at Maryvale?"