"But of course"—the Monsignore took off his spectacles, and now he spoke eagerly, earnestly—"the unforeseen can happen! Have you forgotten," he asked, "the grand element of uncertainty? The horse knows nothing of the clouds of intrigue gathering while he eats happily his grain. He knows only that he is the servant of man, who sometimes betrays him."
The Monsignore had not finished. His gaze went past the boy's head, through the walls and beyond. "Perhaps that is why the humble St. Francis of Assisi wished to be Protector to Animals."
His eyes then came back to Giorgio and flashed warmly. "As fantino, you must know that the probability of winning the Palio is based on the speed of the horse, the skill of the fantino, and the diplomacy of the captain. But it cannot be said that even with all these favorable, the victory is secure. Man tries to fix and arrange, but ah, the horse ... he knows only the one law, and that is to win. It is the most beautiful and bittersweet lesson of the Palio."
A young clerk came into the room and placed a sheaf of papers on the desk. Giorgio sensed that affairs of state were piling up.
"It is not a whole answer, my son," the Monsignore concluded, "but it is the best I can do."
Giorgio stood up to go. Already he began to breathe more easily, as if something of the great man's spirit had passed over into him. "Thank you," he said quietly. Then he pressed the horseshoe into the blue-veined hands, kissed them both and fled from the room.
