an, angrily.

Meanwhile the little boy took refuge behind Saracinesca, and pulling his
coat asked for a _soldo_. The sacristan calmly withdrew the key from the
lock, and went away without vouchsafing a look to the Prince.

"He is deaf," screamed the little boy, who was now joined by his
companion, and both in great excitement danced round the fine gentleman.

"Give me a _soldo_," they yelled together.

"Show me the house of the Padre Curato," answered the Prince, "then I
will give you each a _soldo. Lesti!_ Quick!"

Whereupon both the boys began turning cart-wheels on their feet and hands
with marvellous dexterity. At last they subsided into a natural position,
and led the way to the curate's house, not twenty yards from the church,
in a narrow alley. The Prince pulled the bell by the long chain which
hung beside the open street door, and gave the boys the promised coppers.
They did not leave him, however, but stood by to see what would happen.
An old woman looked out of an upper window, and after surveying the
Prince with care, called down to him--

"What do you want?"

"Is the Padre Curato at home?"

"Of course he is at home," screamed the old woman, "At this hour!" she
added, contemptuously.

"_Ebbene_--can I see him?"

"What! is the door shut?" returned the hag.

"No."

"Then why don't you come up without asking?" The old woman's head
disappeared, and the window was shut with a clattering noise.

"She is a woman without education," remarked one of the ragged boys,
making a face towards the closed window.

The Prince entered the door and stumbled up the dark stairs, and after
some further palaver obtained admittance to the curate's lodging. The
curate sat in a room which appeared to serve as dining-room, living-room,
and study. A small table was spread with a clean cloth, upon which were
arranged a plate, a loaf of bread, a battered spoon, a knife, and a small
measure of thin-looking wine. A brass lamp with three wicks, one of which
only was burning, shed a feeble light through the poor apartment. Against
the wall stood a rough table with an inkstand and three or four mouldy
books. Above this hung a little black cross bearing a brass Christ, and
above this again a coloured print of San Bernardino of Siena. The walls
were whitewashed, and perfectly clean,--as indeed was everything
else in the room,--and there was a sweet smell of flowers from a huge pot
of pinks which had been taken in for the night,