e served on your table."

The threat of deserting just at the vintage season frightened the count,
and he had to give in, and the embassy went its way in high glee at its
success.

Next Sunday we went to the chapel to hear mass, and when we came in the
priest was at the altar finishing the Credo. The count looked furious,
and after mass he took me with him to the sacristy, and begun to abuse
and beat the poor priest, in spite of the surplice which he was still
wearing. It was really a shocking sight.

The priest spat in his face and cried help, that being the only revenge
in his power.

Several persons ran in, so we left the sacristy. I was scandalised, and I
told the count that the priest would be certain to go to Udine, and that
it might turn out a very awkward business.

"Try to prevent his doing so," I added, "even by violence, but in the
first place endeavour to pacify him."

No doubt the count was afraid, for he called out to his servants and
ordered them to fetch the priest, whether he could come or no. His order
was executed, and the priest was led in, foaming with rage, cursing the
count, calling him excommunicated wretch, whose very breath was
poisonous; swearing that never another mass should be sung in the chapel
that had been polluted with sacrilege, and finally promising that the
archbishop should avenge him.

The count let him say on, and then forced him into a chair, and the
unworthy ecclesiastic not only ate but got drunk. Thus peace was
concluded, and the abbe forgot all his wrongs.

A few days later two Capuchins came to visit him at noon. They did not
go, and as he did not care to dismiss them, dinner was served without any
place being laid for the friars. Thereupon the bolder of the two informed
the count that he had had no dinner. Without replying, the count had him
accommodated with a plateful of rice. The Capuchin refused it, saying that
he was worthy to sit, not only at his table, but at a monarch's. The
count, who happened to be in a good humour, replied that they called
themselves "unworthy brethren," and that they were consequently not
worthy of any of this world's good things.

The Capuchin made but a poor answer, and as I thought the count to be in
the right I proceeded to back him up, telling the friar he ought to be
ashamed at having committed the sin of pride, so strictly condemned by
the rules of his order.

The Capuchin answered me with a torrent of abuse, so the count orde