'Santa Tenda! Why, that is my way too; at least as far as the Augustinian Monastery on the Sesia. Wait here, my son, and we will go together. It is good to have a comrade on a journey. Wait but some few moments, to give me time to bathe, which is the purpose for which I came. I will not keep you long.'
He went striding off through the grass. Bellarion called after him:
'Where do you bathe?'
Over his shoulder the friar answered him: 'There is a rivulet down yonder. But a little way. Do not stray from that spot, so that I may find you again, my son.'
Bellarion thought the form of address an odd one. A minorite is brother, not father, to all humanity. But it was no suspicion based on this that brought him to his feet. He was a youth of cleanly habits, and if there was water at hand, he too would profit by it. So he rose, picked up his cloak, and went off in the wake of the swiftly moving friar.
When, presently, he overtook him, Bellarion made him a present of a proverb.
'Who goes slowly, goes soundly.'
'But never gets there,' was the slightly breathless answer. 'And it's still some way to the water.'
'Some way? But you said ...'
'Aye, aye. I was mistaken. One place is like another in this labyrinth. I am none so sure that I am not as lost as you are.'