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For he was never tired of watching his father painting the saints with their branch of palm on their ground of blue or of gold, or Maestro Benedetto making the dull clay glow with angels' wings and prophets' robes and holy legends told in color.
Who mentioned his name? I want to know it!" "What can this mean?" whispered Fanfaro, shuddering. "I will acknowledge everything," stammered Anselmo, and hanging his head down he told how he had been a galley-slave at Toulon. "Who wounded you?" he then asked, turning to the crazy woman. "My son. He was called Benedetto! Ha! ha! ha! Who could have given him that name?
"This, signora, is the prisoner of whom I told you," said my conductor by way of introduction. "Why, he is a mere boy, Benedetto; and wounded, too! What is the nature of your wound, child?" "A broken arm, signora," I replied unsteadily; the unexpected accents of pity in her voice, or the excruciating pain I had been suffering for the previous four hours, suddenly unnerving me.
Benedetto began the palace, therefore, in the best way that he could, and brought the outer shell almost to completion before the death of Filippo: which outer shell is in the Rustic Order, with varying degrees of rustication, as may be seen, since the boss-covered part from the first range of windows downwards, together with the doors, is very much Rustic, and the part from the first range of windows to the second is much less Rustic.
Alas, the man was dead; they had thought of the viaticum too late! The Padre inquired for Benedetto, and Noemi pointed to where he sat. They spoke of the interview which Noemi desired. Don Clemente blushed and hesitated, but could not refuse to ask for it, and he went to join Benedetto. While the two conversed, Giovanni and Maria related to Noemi all that had taken place.
The Count uttered a groan of despair as he saw Haydée's self-confessed murderer escape him, and staggered to his feet; the fierce conflict with Benedetto had exhausted him, and he stood for an instant panting and breathless. The shrieks had now grown fainter and the hall was full of smoke.
The vicarage was situated at the entrance to the village; the horse was covered with blood and foam, but Benedetto knew no mercy. Like a flash of lightning horse and rider flew along, and when the horse finally broke down, the first houses in the village had been reached. Benedetto jumped off, but did not throw a look at the dying horse; he only thought of himself and his safety.
Benedetto, since the journey from Paris, was no longer recognizable; he no longer resembled the proud Andrea Cavalcanti, and sometimes even thought he was going crazy. What sustained him was the thought of the million his mother intended to give the Jesuits on the 25th of February. This million he must secure for himself; but how he was to do so he did not know himself.
The mountains, the clouds, even the dark walls of the monastery, and the tower itself looked heavy with sleep in the pale dawn. Benedetto entered the Ospizio, and stretching himself on his poor couch, without removing his wet garments, he crossed his arms on his breast, and sank into a deep sleep.
In this way days, weeks, and months passed with Romola till the men were digging and sowing again, till the women smiled at her as they carried their great vases on their heads to the well, and the Hebrew baby was a tottering tumbling Christian, Benedetto by name, having been baptised in the church on the mountain-side.
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