await coming events.

In less than eight or ten minutes, I see a crowd of peasants coming down
the hills, armed with guns, pitchforks, or cudgels: I withdraw inside of
the barn, but without the slightest fear, for I cannot suppose that,
seeing me alone, these men will murder me without listening to me.

The first ten or twelve peasants come forward, gun in hand and ready to
fire: I stop them by throwing down my gazzette, which they lose no time
in picking up from the ground, and I keep on throwing money down as the
men come forward, until I had no more left. The clowns were looking at
each other in great astonishment, not knowing what to make out of a
well-dressed young man, looking very peaceful, and throwing his money to
them with such generosity. I could not speak to them until the deafening
noise of the bells should cease. I quietly sit down on my large bag, and
keep still, but as soon as I can be heard I begin to address the men. The
priest, however, assisted by his beadle and by the herdsman, interrupts
me, and all the more easily that I was speaking Italian. My three
enemies, who talked all at once, were trying to excite the crowd against
me.

One of the peasants, an elderly and reasonable-looking man, comes up to
me and asks me in Italian why I have killed the sheep.

"To eat it, my good fellow, but not before I have paid for it."

"But his holiness, the papa, might choose to charge one sequin for it."

"Here is one sequin."