spiritual kind, then, young man, you are a bondslave indeed, to your own
ignoble desires."

I said, "I have told you on what terms I will take my liberty. I will
die here as I am sooner than make bargains with you."

"I am an old man," he replied, "a-weary of my labours. I will not
wrangle--I abhor disputations. I am able to offer you, Don Francis, a
service which is perfect freedom. Will you take it or leave it?" I was
silent, and I believe the old villain went to sleep, as certainly I did.
Youth will have its rest, whether there be gall in the mouth or a teat.

When I awoke it was broad day. The sun was up and deepening the pale
tints of the sky; a bird in the oak-tree overhead was singing his
orison, and Fra Palamone cooking a pork chop upon a little fire of
twigs. Never did I see such delicate art put into such a piece of work;
he had not boasted when he said that he was a cook. Not only did he cook
it to the exquisite point of perfection, but he ate it, bone and all--
combining the zest of a cannibal with the epicure's finer relish--and
poured near a litre of wine down his tunnel of a throat, before he
deigned to regard whether I lived or was dead. His next act was to
recite the rosary aloud, on his knees, with intense fervour; and his
next--after three prostrations in honour of the Trinity--to untie the
cord about his middle and add a knot or two to the multitude already
there. With this formidable scourge circling about in his hand, he came
to where I lay helpless.

"Ser Francesco," he said, showing his long tooth and purring his words
like a cat, "I find that bonds, imprisonment and hunger have not
quickened your resolution. I admire you for it, but meantime I suffer