carefully putting on his beard and wig before the
looking-glass.

"To-morrow morning, with the pilgrims. On the next day I fall ill and
stop behind in a shepherd's hut, and then take a short cut across the
hills. I shall be down there before you will. Good-night!"

Twelve o'clock was striking from the Cathedral bell-tower as the Gadfly
looked in at the door of the great empty barn which had been thrown
open as a lodging for the pilgrims. The floor was covered with
clumsy figures, most of which were snoring lustily, and the air was
insufferably close and foul. He drew back with a little shudder of
repugnance; it would be useless to attempt to sleep in there; he would
take a walk, and then find some shed or haystack which would, at least,
be clean and quiet.

It was a glorious night, with a great full moon gleaming in a purple
sky. He began to wander through the streets in an aimless way, brooding
miserably over the scene of the morning, and wishing that he had never
consented to Domenichino's plan of holding the meeting in Brisighella.
If at the beginning he had declared the project too dangerous, some
other place would have been chosen; and both he and Montanelli would
have been spared this ghastly, ridiculous farce.

How changed the Padre was! And yet his voice was not changed at all; it
was just the same as in the old days, when he used to say: "Carino."

The lantern of the night-watchman appeared at the other end of the
street, and the Gadfly turned down a narrow, crooked alley. After
walking a few yards he found himself in the Cathedral Square, close
to the left wing of the episcopal palace. The square was flooded with
moonlight, and there was no one in sight; but he noticed that a side
door of the Cathedral was ajar. The sacristan must have forgotten to
shut it. Surely nothing could be going on there so late at night. He
might as well go in and sleep on one of the benches instead of in the
stifling barn; he could slip out in the morning before the sacristan
came; and even if anyone did find him, the natural supposition would be
that mad Diego had been saying his prayers in some corner, and had got
shut in.

He listened a moment at the door, and then entered with the noiseless
step that he had retained notwithstanding his lameness. The moonlight
streamed through the windows, and lay in broad bands on the marble
floor. In the chancel, especially, everything was as clearly visible as
by daylight. At the foot of