"Be not so sure, dear sir," returned the Jew. "You don't know Brother
Hyacinth as well as I do. There was a fellow came here on a day all
spent and bleeding. He had lost a toe under a coach-wheel. If you will
believe it, this dear host of ours bade him go walk on his hands, and
offered him the cloister to get perfect in. Now, with me, I know it will
go hard, unless those fools cease their din." The two friars had been
dicing with the soldier, and had won his boots. Each had taken one from
him, and were now wrangling who should have both. I was struck by the
sinister expression of one of them, a Capuchin of great strength, with a
long white beard. More than enough of him in due course. I told the Jew
that my case was so bad I cared not greatly whether I was received or
no. A man, I said, could die anywhere. "Why, yes," he said, "so he can--
and live anywhere also. One is as easy as the other, if you but give
your mind to it. But one thing I will tell you," he added, "it is not so
easy as you might think to live cheaply when you have the means of
living dear. I shall be lucky if I spend this night as I desire--but you
will see. Hush! here is our man." I had been about to ask him what was
his malady, for he appeared to me the picture of health, and shining
with it; but just then a square-headed religious, with small angry eyes
and prominent bones, came into the hall, attended by a clerk, a sleek
young fellow, who called out "Silence," and was instantly obeyed. The
two friars were on their knees in a trice, and chattering their Hail
Marys; the soldier, after some efforts to rise, had managed to lift
himself by the wall, and, being propped up against it, was saluting all
and sundry with great impartiality. The Jew only was good enough to help
me with the support of his arm.

His was the first case. "Your name?" said Brother Hyacinth, and was
answered "Giovanni-Battista-Maria-Bentivoglio."