Silvio glanced at him. He had at once realized that this was no ordinary village priest, scarcely, if at all removed from the peasant class. The quiet, educated voice, the polished Italian, the clear-cut, intellectual features, all told their own tale quickly enough. And this Don Lelli was an old friend of his father. Silvio was well aware that his father did not number very many priests among his friends, and that the few whom he did so number were distinguished for their wide learning and liberal views.
"You know Rome, reverendo?" he inquired, with some curiosity, though he knew well enough that he was talking to a Roman.
Don Agostino smiled. "Yes," he replied, "I know Rome. That is to say," he added, "if anybody can assert that he knows Rome. It is a presumptuous assertion to make. Perhaps I should rather say that I know one or two features of Rome."
"You no doubt studied there?"
"Yes, I studied there. I was also born there—like yourself, no doubt. We are both Romani di Roma—one cannot mistake the accent."
"And it was then you knew my father, of course," said Silvio.
"When I was a seminarist? No, some years after that period of my life. I knew your father when—well, when I was something more than I am now," concluded Don Agostino, with a slight smile.
"When you were a parish priest in the city?" asked Silvio.
"When I was at the Vatican," replied Don Agostino, quietly.
"At the Vatican!" Silvio exclaimed.