‘Blessed Francesco!’ said the friar as he set it on the table.
‘I will not disturb your Excellency now,’ said Francesco; ‘but, after you have breakfasted, I crave your remembrance of your promise of last night, that you would reveal to me this morning wherefore you say with such enthusiasm “Blessed Francesco!”’
‘It is not time to speak of it now,’ said the friar; ‘first we have our reckoning to make.’
The lay brother hid his face in his table-napkin in terror, and seemed to be seized with a distressing fit of coughing.
‘Oh, don’t speak of the reckoning, Excellenza; that is as nothing.’
‘Nay,’ said the friar; ‘that must not be;’ and he made a gesture as if he would have drawn out a purse, while under the table he had to press his feet against those of the lay brother to silence his rising remonstrance for his persistence.
‘I couldn’t think of taking anything from your Excellenza,’ persisted the host, putting his hands behind him that no money might be forced upon him.
The more stedfastly he refused the more perseveringly the friar continued to press the payment, till, with his companion, he had gained the threshold of the door.
As they were passing out, however, the host once more exclaimed, ‘But the explanation your Excellency was to give me of why you said “Blessed Francesco!”’
‘Impossible, friend; I cannot tell it here. Wait till I have gained the height of yonder mound, while you stand at its foot, and I will tell it you from thence.’