The proposal struck me as a rather funny one; I put on his cloak, and he
took my great-coat, but, after the exchange, we cut such a comical figure
that every peasant we met laughed at us. His cloak would truly have
proved a load for a mule. There were twelve pockets quite full, without
taken into account a pocket behind, which he called 'il batticulo', and
which contained alone twice as much as all the others. Bread, wine, fresh
and salt meat, fowls, eggs, cheese, ham, sausages--everything was to be
found in those pockets, which contained provisions enough for a
fortnight.

I told him how well I had been treated in Loretto, and he assured me that
I might have asked Monsignor Caraffa to give me letters for all the
hospitals on my road to Rome, and that everywhere I would have met with
the same reception. "The hospitals," he added, "are all under the curse
of Saint-Francis, because the mendicant friars are not admitted in them;
but we do not mind their gates being shut against us, because they are
too far apart from each other. We prefer the homes of the persons
attached to our order; these we find everywhere."

"Why do you not ask hospitality in the convents of your order?"

"I am not so foolish. In the first place, I should not be admitted,
because, being a fugitive, I have not the written obedience which must be
shown at every convent, and I should even run the risk of being thrown
into prison; your monks are a cursed bad lot. In the second place, I
should not be half so comfortable in the convents as I am with our devout
benefactors."

"Why and how are you a fugitive?"