"Buon giorno, Signor Arciprete," said Luigi, raising his hat as we approached.
"Buon giorno, Luigi," responded the arch-priest. "There is a strange tale current in the village about you and your passengers having been robbed on the high road. Can it be true."
"Perfectly true, Reverenza," was the reply. "Only the night before last we were assaulted by at least a dozen banditti armed to the teeth, and my passengers, six of whom were English gentlemen, along with myself."
"Stay," said the arch-priest. "You are perfectly sure there were a dozen of them?"
"A dozen at the very least, your Reverence, I could swear."
"Tell me," said the arch-priest, "did you see Antonio the prisoner amongst them."
"Antonio?" inquired the vetturino, in extreme surprise.
"Ay," replied the arch-priest. "He that hath been accused of robbing the church and is now at Gennazzano awaiting his trial. You will have heard the tale by this time."
"I certainly did hear a wonderful story, Reverenza, but did not know how far to credit it," replied the vetturino. "The night was very dark and I could recognise no faces.
"But, Corpi di Bacco! Antonio! Why I always considered Antonio as an honest man, a simple vignauolo who earned his bread by the sweat of his brow, and whom, for his steady plodding, the saints had awarded by granting him a better share of this world's goods than most of his fellows."