the sweat of our brow," said they, "as your cook has to taste the dishes
before they are served on your table."

The threat of deserting just at the vintage season frightened the count,
and he had to give in, and the embassy went its way in high glee at its
success.

Next Sunday we went to the chapel to hear mass, and when we came in the
priest was at the altar finishing the Credo. The count looked furious,
and after mass he took me with him to the sacristy, and begun to abuse
and beat the poor priest, in spite of the surplice which he was still
wearing. It was really a shocking sight.

The priest spat in his face and cried help, that being the only revenge
in his power.

Several persons ran in, so we left the sacristy. I was scandalised, and I
told the count that the priest would be certain to go to Udine, and that
it might turn out a very awkward business.

"Try to prevent his doing so," I added, "even by violence, but in the
first place endeavour to pacify him."

No doubt the count was afraid, for he called out to his servants and
ordered them to fetch the priest, whether he could come or no. His order
was executed, and the priest was led in, foaming with rage, cursing the
count, calling him excommunicated wretch, whose very breath was
poisonous; swearing that never another mass should be sung in the chapel
that had been polluted with sacrilege, and finally promising that the
archbishop should avenge him.