Next day, in the early morning, there was a great stir, calling, laughing, and rejoicing in the little town of Roccastretta. Men, in Capuchin-like hoods, stood in the doors, women wrapped in their mantles, leaned out of the windows; and from one house to another, and one street to another, the laughing dialogue ran: "Ha, ha! what did we say yesterday?" "He has come to reason over night!" "Only since yesterday he has lain in the sea, and last evening he sent the rain!"
"And what a heavenly rain!"
"Yes, yes, the Evolino is a brave patron, we could not ask a better."
As Father Atanasio, who, any one could see, didn't know what sort of a face to put upon the matter, slowly crossed the large open square where the men were accustomed to idle about when they had no work to do, all sorts of taunting salutations flew at his head:
"Oh, oh! Father Atanasio, but it did help!" The father, who was a discreet man, assumed an open, cheerful expression, returned the greetings of his fellow townsmen with pompous nods and smiles, and answered unctuously:
"No one ever addresses himself to the saints in vain: and even if this time it was done after a rude fashion, Saint Pancras loves this town and people too well to resent it. Besides, good for evil is the rule of the saints."
"Very fine; yes, yes!" came back from the mocking house doors and windows, "we know you are obliged to talk that way; but we know just as well that the 'rude fashion' was necessary, and long live Don Cesare, who put it into our heads!"
"And who saved you from putting the good Evolino to the test of fire?" answered the little ship-trader, with a loud voice, as he came out of a side street, and advanced toward his friends, receiving the praises and congratulations that poured upon him from every side with dignified self-approval, as if it were he, and not Saint Pancras, who had wrapped the horizon in clouds, and caused the fruitful rain to descend over fields and gardens. A quite extraordinary seriousness pervaded his features and demeanor; he spoke with calm majesty, as his distinguished namesake might have done after a victory over the Gauls. But whoever had observed him closely could not have failed to detect the feverish wandering of his glance, and a certain convulsive movement that now and then overcame his right hand, causing it, without visible occasion, to clutch itself into a fist, and to lay hasty hold on the handle of his knife.
Only for a short time did Don Cesare feast upon the enthusiasm of his fellow citizens. Turning toward Father Atanasio, he suddenly cried:
"And now, friends, not another moment's delay! Not an hour longer must our good patron saint remain in the water. He has heard us, sooner than we hoped, and we must be equally prompt in assuring him of our gratitude, and in replacing him with all honor in his chapel. Come, Father Atanasio, and call the Syndic also, for whoever helped yesterday must help to-day, if he would not have the saint bear him a grudge!"