"Silence!" he exclaimed. "And if there is a man among you, let him stand out and tell me what you mean—what you accuse me of. Choose your spokesman. I am waiting to hear what he has to say." He folded his arms and leaned against the balustrade almost indifferently. His demeanor was not lost on the crowd, composed of peasants though it was. Its members fell to talking excitedly among themselves, and presently one of the younger men came forward. Don Agostino recognized him as the speaker at the Caffè Garibaldi that morning, who had advocated no delay in going to the castle and insisting on seeing Donna Bianca Acorari in person.
"You ask us what it is we accuse you of!" he exclaimed, in a threatening voice. "Porca Madonna!"
"There is no necessity to be blasphemous," interrupted Don Agostino, sternly.
"If it had not been for your promises, and because we believed that you would not deceive us, we should have been here this morning. You persuaded us to delay, because all the time you knew that the soldiers had been sent for."
"I did not know it," said Don Agostino, in a voice that rang through the court-yard. "I swear that I did not know it until I read the telegram in the paper that you have probably all seen. Even now I do not know that the report is true. In the castle they deny that there has ever been any idea of sending for troops, and, still more, that they have been actually sent for. You accuse me of having deceived you. I tell you that until a few minutes ago I have been doing my best to persuade the princess to give you a hearing. But other counsels have prevailed, and I have not succeeded in seeing either her or the Principessina Donna Bianca. No—I have deceived you in nothing, but you have been deceived all the same. You have been deceived by those who have encouraged you to come here and commit acts of violence, but who have, nevertheless, taken good care not to compromise themselves. Now, my friends, I have answered your accusations. What further reasons have you to give for turning against me, who have never done anything to deserve your want of confidence?"
Cries of "È vero! È vero!" greeted Don Agostino's words, and a few shouts of "Evviva il parroco!" were raised from the back of the crowd.
Don Agostino slowly descended the steps, and advanced towards the foremost group of peasants.
"Listen to me, ragazzi miei," he said. "Be wise and go back to the paese, quietly. I told you this morning that you would obtain nothing by violence, and I tell it you again. There are other means—better means—of obtaining your rights than by committing wrongs. Have I ever deceived you? I think not. Did I deceive you, Angelo Frassi, when you were nearly crippled for life, and I sent you to the hospital in Rome, and you came back cured? Or you, Pietro Santucci, when your mother was dying, and you had not money left in the house to buy a piece of meat to make her a cup of broth? Via, figli miei, you have called me some hard names, but I think, all the same, that you will trust me for a little yet."
Don Agostino paused, and an outburst of cheering came from his audience. The peasants he had named, who were among the most threatening of the younger men among the mob, shrunk back shamefaced and abashed. The parroco's appeal was true, and they knew it to be so. There were few in the crowd, moreover, who, in some way or another, had not experienced Don Agostino's sympathy and generosity.
Almost mechanically they made way for him to pass between their ranks, and followed him over the debris of the broken gates out on to the square-paved piazza, in front of the walls and round battlemented towers flanking the main entrance to the castle.