[The Strolling Saint by Raphael Sabatini]@TWC D-Link book
The Strolling Saint

CHAPTER IV
14/19

So that whether this brown peasant girl was beautiful or not, beautiful she seemed to me with the radiant beauty that is attributed to the angels of Paradise.

Nor did I doubt that she would be as holy, for to see in beauty a mark of divine favour is not peculiar only to the ancient Greeks.
And because of the appeal of this beauty--real or supposed--I was very ready with my protection, since I felt that protection must carry with it certain rights of ownership which must be very sweet and were certainly desired.
Holding her, therefore, within the shelter of my arms, where in her heedless innocence she had flung herself, and by very instinct stroking with one hand her little brown head to soothe her fears, I became truculent for the first time in my new-found manhood, and boldly challenged her pursuer.
"What is this, Rinolfo ?" I demanded.

"Why do you plague her ?" "She broke up my snares," he answered sullenly, "and let the birds go free." "What snares?
What birds ?" quoth I.
"He is a cruel beast," she shrilled.

"And he will lie to you, Madonnino." "If he does I'll break the bones of his body," I promised in a tone entirely new to me.

And then to him--"The truth now, poltroon!" I admonished him.
At last I got the story out of them: how Rinolfo had scattered grain in a little clearing in the garden, and all about it had set twigs that were heavily smeared with viscum; that he set this trap almost daily, and daily took a great number of birds whose necks he wrung and had them cooked for him with rice by his silly mother; that it was a sin in any case to take little birds by such cowardly means, but that since amongst these birds there were larks and thrushes and plump blackbirds and other sweet musicians of the air, whose innocent lives were spent in singing the praises of God, his sin became a hideous sacrilege.
Finally I learnt that coming that morning upon half a score of poor fluttering terrified birds held fast in Rinolfo's viscous snares, the little girl had given them their liberty and had set about breaking up the springes.


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