"
I did not again remind him that I had seen that very clearly when, at
Rovigo, his foot had been clapped upon my coins; but Fra Clemente, if
that were his name, saw that it was remembered.
"Your money, let me say, would have been safer with me than with that
oily thief Issachar," he said calmly, "but let that pass. You saw fit to
trust him, and now you can judge how far I am to be trusted. I have
nothing to complain of and nothing to hide. I hope you can say the
same." I was silent.
"Let me tell you," he went on, "that my name in religion is Palamone--
Fra Palamone"--here his tones became lighter, as he soared from the
injured benefactor's into a jauntier suit. "Yes, I am that Fra Palamone,
known all over Tuscany for the most wheedling, good-natured, cunning,
light-fingered and light-hearted old devil of a Capuchin that ever hid
in St. Francis' wound. Hey! but I'm snug in my snuff-coloured suit. My
poor old father--God have him after all his pains!--put me there, to lie
quiet and nurse my talent, and so I do when times are hard. But the
waxing moon sees me skipping, and you will no more keep me long off the
road than your cur upon it. I must be out and about--in the kitchen to
tease the wenches, into the taverns for my jug of wine, off to the
fairs, where the ducats blow like thistle-down; under the gallows to see
my friends dance, at the gaol doors against delivery; the round of the
pillories, a glance at the galleys--with a nose for every naughty savour
and an ear for every salted tale.
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