ng,' answered the sentry, with a friendly
glance at Cucurullo's hump; 'but you are welcome to sit in the
guard-room, if you like.'

'Thank you,' Cucurullo answered, and as he passed he felt the soldier's
light touch on his crooked back.

The other halberdiers received him with equal kindness, and there was
not one of them who did not believe that he would have a stroke of luck
before night, if he could by any means touch the magic hump without
offending its possessor. Cucurullo took off his hat civilly as he
stopped before them.

'Good-morning, gentlemen,' he said. 'The sentinel was kind enough to say
that I might wait here for my master, who has been arrested by mistake
and will soon come out.'

'And welcome!' cried the sergeant on duty, who had lost money at play on
the previous evening.

'At your service! Pray sit down! Bring out a chair!'

The men all spoke together, and gathered closely round Cucurullo to
touch his hump, so that he almost disappeared amongst them. Then they
got a chair from the guard-room and made him sit down at his ease, and
some remained standing beside him while others sat on the end of the
stone seat that ran along the wall. He thanked them warmly, and at once
entered into conversation, asking for news of Stradella, and explaining
the strange mistake that had led to his arrest. In a few minutes he had
learned that his master was in all likelihood at that very moment before
the Legate.

'And what sort of person is his worship, the Governor?' asked Cucurullo,
anxious for information, and lowering his voice.

The sergeant was a jolly, red-faced, merry-eyed man from the March of
Ancona, and he laughed before he answered.

'We used to call him Pontius Pilate, because he does not know what truth
is,' he said, 'but we gave that up because he never washes his hands!'

Cucurullo smiled at the rough jest, but he looked curiously at the
speaker.

'I see that you are familiar with the Scriptures, sir,' observed the
hunchback.

'I come by the knowledge honestly,' answered the soldier. 'I did not
steal it! My father, bless his soul, was killed in battle, and so my
mother tried to make a priest of me. Eh? You see me as I am! This is the
kind of priest my mother made! Neither more nor less than a poor
sergeant of halberdiers. But a little of the Latin stuck to me, for
indeed it is sticky stuff enough, and the priests laid it on with a
stick!'

The men roared with delight at their superior's