ad
connived at the escape of Messer d'Anguissola, who was also gone, no man
knew whither.

The news had travelled speedily into that mountain fastness, it seemed.
But it had been garbled at its source. The Piacentini conceived that
they held some evidence of what they believed--the evidence of the lad
whom Fifanti had left to spy and who had borne him the tale that the
Cardinal was within. This evidence they accounted well-confirmed by the
Legate's flight.

Thus is history written. Not a doubt but that some industrious scribe in
Piacenza with a grudge against Gambara, would set down what was the
talk of the town; and hereafter, it is not to be doubted, the murder of
Astorre Fifanti for the vilest of all motives will be added to the many
crimes of Egidio Gambara, that posterity may execrate his name even
beyond its already rich enough deserts.

I heard them in silence and but little moved, yet with a question now
and then to probe how far this silly story went in detail. And whilst
they were still heaping abuse upon the Legate--of whom they spoke as
Jews may speak of pork--came the lantern-jawed host with a dish of
broiled goat, some bread, and a jug of wine. This he set before me, then
joined them in their vituperation of Messer Gambara.

I ate ravenously, and for all that I do not doubt the meat was tough
and burnt, yet at the time those pieces of broiled goat upon that dirty
table seemed the sweetest food that ever had been set before me.

Finding that I was but indifferently communicative and had little news
to give them, the peasants fell to gossiping among themselves, and
they were presently joined by the girl, whose name, it seemed, was
Giovannozza. She came to startle them with the rumour of a fresh miracle
attributed to the hermit of Monte Orsaro.

I looked up with more interest than I had hitherto shown in anything
that had been said, and I inquired who might be this anchorite.

"Sainted Virgin!" cried the girl, setting her hands upon her generous
hips, and turning her bold sloe-eyes upon me in a stare of incredulity.
"Whence are you, sir, that you seem to know nothing of the world? You
had not heard the news of Piacenza, which must be known to everyone by
now; and you have never heard of the anchorite of Monte Orsaro!" She
appealed by a gesture to Heaven against the Stygian darkness of my mind.

"He is a very holy man," said one of the peasants.

"And he dwells alone in a hut midway up the mountain,"