own.

He was older than my father by a month or so, and as often happens in such
cases, he was brought to Mondolfo to be first my father's playmate, and
later, no doubt, to have followed him as a man-at-arms. But a chill that
he took in his tenth year as a result of a long winter immersion in the icy
waters of the Taro laid him at the point of death, and left him thereafter
of a rather weak and sickly nature. But he was quick and intelligent, and
was admitted to learn his letters with my father, whence it ensued that he
developed a taste for study. Seeing that by his health he was debarred
from the hardy open life of a soldier, his scholarly aptitude was
encouraged, and it was decided that he should follow a clerical career.

He had entered the order of St. Francis; but after some years at the
Convent of Aguilona, his health having been indifferent and the conventual
rules too rigorous for his condition, he was given licence to become the
chaplain of Mondolfo. Here he had received the kindliest treatment at the
hands of my father, who entertained for his sometime playmate a very real
affection.

He was a tall, gaunt man with a sweet, kindly face, reflecting his sweet,
kindly nature; he had deep-set, dark eyes, very gentle in their gaze, a
tender mouth that was a little drawn by lines of suffering and an upright
wrinkle, deep as a gash, between his brows at the root of his long, slender
nose.

He it was that night who broke the silence that endured even after the
others had departed. He spoke at first as if communing with himself, like
a man who thinks aloud; and between his thumb and his long forefinger, I
remember that he kneaded a crumb of bread upon which his eyes were intent.