The old priest shook his head, and his eyes were very full of compassion.
“Poor youth, poor youth!” he sighed.
Without all was silent; there was no such rustle of a multitude as I listened for. And then I observed in my cell a little shepherd-lad who had been wont to come that way for my blessing upon occasions. He was half naked, as lithe as a snake and almost as brown. What did he there? And then someone else stirred—an elderly peasant-woman with a wrinkled kindly face and soft dark eyes, whom I did not know at all.
Somehow, as my mind grew clearer, last night seemed ages remote. I looked at the priest again.
“Father,” I murmured, “what has happened?”
His answer amazed me. He started violently. Looked more closely, and suddenly cried out:
“He knows me! He knows me! Deo gratias!” And he fell upon his knees
Now here it seemed to me was a sort of madness. “Why should I not know you?” quoth I.
The old woman peered at me. “Ay, blessed be Heaven! He is awake at last, and himself again.” She turned to the lad, who was staring at me, grinning. “Go tell them, Beppo! Haste!”
“Tell them?” I cried. “The pilgrims? Ah, no, no—not unless the miracle has come to pass!”