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Updated: June 14, 2025
Thereupon the Wardens of Works for the Vescovado gave the commission for three windows in the principal chapel, each twenty braccia in height, to Stagio, the son of the said Fabiano, and to the painter Domenico Pecori; but when these were finished and fixed in their places, they gave no great satisfaction to the Aretines, although they were passing good and rather worthy of praise than otherwise.
It was much about the same time that Father Fabiano had set out on that walk to the forest, from which he had returned in such a state of agitation, that old Quinto Lalli, the prima donna's travelling companion, was made acquainted with the escapade of his adopted daughter. Though she bore his name, the fact was that the old man was in no way related to the famous singer.
She listened sympathetically, occasionally putting in a word, till suddenly Fabiano said: "Antonio Bernari will be out to-day. I suppose you know that, Signora?" "Antonio Bernari! Who is he? I never heard of him." Fabiano looked surprised. "But he is Ruffo's Patrigno. He is the husband of Maddalena." Hermione stood still on the pavement. She did not know why for a moment.
She went down the steps. The man immediately brought his boat right in. "No," she said, "I don't want the boat." Fabiano looked a little disappointed. "I am looking for some one who lives here, a Sicilian boy called Ruffo." "Ruffo Scarla, Signora? The Sicilian?" "That must be he. Do you know him?" "Si, Signora, I know Ruffo very well. He was here this morning. But I don't know where he is now."
Signor Logarini had meanwhile made one or two more excursions to the Basilica of St. Apollinare. But he had gained nothing by his pains. The padre Fabiano was on each occasion found in bed, no whit better to all appearance than he had been on that day when the police Commissary and Signor Fortini visited him together.
And before the hour of evensong came, his coadjutor, Fra Simone, the lay-brother, being by that time so much better as to be able to crawl out, Father Fabiano was fain to stretch himself on the pallet in his cell. And Fra Simone took it quite as a matter of course in the ordinary order of things, that the father was laid up in his turn with an attack of fever and ague.
In this country one cannot telegraph, the telegrams never arrive. You know the Balkans." He smiled. "Oui, oui, c'est un pays où le Bon Dieu n'a pas passé, ou au moins il a peut-être passé en aeroplane." At last he agreed to take us if we could get a letter from Fabiano, and so take the responsibility from his shoulders. This we got.
"Father Fabiano is not much fit to speak to anybody; the cold fit of the ague is very strong upon him. But if you choose to go up to him you can specially as there is nothing to stop you. He is in the right-hand cell on the first landing-place up that staircase," said the lay-brother, feebly pointing to the entrance, from which he had come out.
"Ah! small circumstances, as you say yes but circumstances eh? do they not often must we not be very careful eh?" and the Marchese shook as he spoke, till the lawyer really began to think that he must be labouring under an attack of the same illness that had seized on father Fabiano.
"But that is not all," said the Commissary, laying his finger impressively on the lawyer's sleeve; "my belief is that that old friar, padre Fabiano, is aware of the fact that the murder was committed by Paolina Foscarelli. I am not disposed to think that he had any hand in the doing of the deed; but I think the he has a knowledge of her guilt.
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