it, and _must_ take it. My companion hesitated, but I had the
advantage here, being the one who could speak Italian; so I promptly
replied that we would not go in the omnibus under any circumstances.
The whole story was then repeated with more adjectives and
superlatives, and gestures of a form and pathos to make the fortune
of a tragic actor. I repeated my refusal. He began a third time: I
sat down on the steps, rested my head on my hand and looked at the
carvings of the portal. This drove him to frenzy: so long as you
answer an Italian he gets the better of you; entrench yourself in
silence and he is impotent. The driver's impotence first exploded
in fury and threats: at least we should pay for the omnibus, for his
time, for his trouble; yes, pay the whole way to Perugia and back, and
his _buon' mano_ besides. All the beggars who haunt the sanctuary of
their patron had gathered about us, and from playing Greek chorus
now began to give us advice: "Yes, we would do well to go: the only
carriage in Assisi, and excellent, admirable!" The numbers of these
vagrants, their officiousness, their fluency, were bewildering. "But
what are we to do?" asked my anxious companion. "Why, if it comes to
the worst, walk down to the station and take the night-train back." He
walked away whistling, and I composed myself to a visage of stone
and turned my eyes to the sculptures once more. Suddenly the driver
stopped short: there was a minute's pause, and then I heard a voice
in the softest accents asking for something to buy a drink. I turned
round--beside me stood the driver hat in hand: "Yes, the signora is
right, quite right: I go, but she will give me something to get a
drink?" I nearly laughed, but, biting my lips, I said firmly, "A
drink? Yes, if it be poison." The effect was astounding: the man
uttered an ejaculation, crossed himself, mounted his box and drove
off; the beggars shrank away, stood aloof and exchanged awestruck
whispers; only a few liquid-eyed little ragamuffins continued to turn