I had thus been playing the petty king with success for a week or ten
days, when, towards ten o'clock at night I heard the sentinel's
challenge. My lieutenant went out, and returned announcing that an
honest-looking man, who spoke Italian, wished to see me on important
business. I had him brought in, and, in the presence of my lieutenant, he
told me in Italian:

"Next Sunday, the Papa Deldimopulo will fulminate against you the
'cataramonachia'. If you do not prevent him, a slow fever will send you
into the next world in six weeks."

"I have never heard of such a drug."

"It is not a drug. It is a curse pronounced by a priest with the Host in
his hands, and it is sure to be fulfilled."

"What reason can that priest have to murder me?"

"You disturb the peace and discipline of his parish. You have seduced
several young girls, and now their lovers refuse to marry them."

I made him drink, and thanking him heartily, wished him good night. His
warning struck me as deserving my attention, for, if I had no fear of the
'cataramonachia', in which I had not the slightest faith, I feared
certain poisons which might be by far more efficient. I passed a very
quiet night, but at day-break I got up, and without saying anything to my
lieutenant, I went straight to the church where I found the priest, and
addressed him in the following words, uttered in a tone likely to enforce
conviction: