The master took his face between his hands, and kissed him on the forehead.
"Go," said he.
"And you will pray for me ?" "Yes, _nunc et semper_." Steps in the corridor.

A key turns in the lock.

Benedetto vanishes like a shadow.
* * * * * Good old Fra Antonio, the doorkeeper of the monastery, did not betray the fact that he had expected to see Benedetto also, and, with that dignified respect in which were blended the humility of an inferior and the pride of an old and honest retainer, he told Don Clemente that the Father Abbot was waiting for him in his private apartment.

Don Clemente, carrying a tiny lantern, went up to the great corridor, out of which the Abbot's rooms and his own opened.
The Abbot, Padre Omobono Ravasio of Bergamo, was waiting for him in a small salon dimly lighted by a poor little petroleum lamp.

The _salottino_, in its severe, ecclesiastical simplicity, held nothing of interest, save a canvas by Morone--the fine portrait of a man; two small panels with angels' heads, in the style of Luini; and a grand piano, loaded with music.