"Let me tell you," he went on, "that my name in religion is Palamone--
Fra Palamone"--here his tones became lighter, as he soared from the
injured benefactor's into a jauntier suit. "Yes, I am that Fra Palamone,
known all over Tuscany for the most wheedling, good-natured, cunning,
light-fingered and light-hearted old devil of a Capuchin that ever hid
in St. Francis' wound. Hey! but I'm snug in my snuff-coloured suit. My
poor old father--God have him after all his pains!--put me there, to lie
quiet and nurse my talent, and so I do when times are hard. But the
waxing moon sees me skipping, and you will no more keep me long off the
road than your cur upon it. I must be out and about--in the kitchen to
tease the wenches, into the taverns for my jug of wine, off to the
fairs, where the ducats blow like thistle-down; under the gallows to see
my friends dance, at the gaol doors against delivery; the round of the
pillories, a glance at the galleys--with a nose for every naughty savour
and an ear for every salted tale. I have prospered, I was made to
prosper. This good belly of mine, this broad, easy gullet, these hands,
this portly beard, which may now get as white as it can, since I have
done with gossip Fra Clemente--a wrist of steel, fingers as hard as
whipcord, and legs like anchor-cables; all these were fostered and made
able by brown St. Francis' merry sons. Fra Palamone, dear unknown, Fra
Palamone, ever your servant! And now--"here, with another revolting
change, he turned his lips back to show his tooth--"And now," said he,
"you fish-eyed, jelly-gutted, staring, misbegotten bottle of bile, who
in the deuce's name lent you the impudence to listen to my confidential
histories without so much as letting me know your fool's name--hey?"

The ferocious invective of this peroration accorded so ill with his
prattling exordium that I was left with nothing but a gaze. This I gave
him liberally; but he went on, lashing himself into fury, to use every
vernacular oath he could lay tongue to. He swore in Venetian, in