In after years he would sometimes allude to his order, when jesting covertly with his friends, and say "When I was in the regiment!" but he did not repeat that now.

As a boy he had loved flowers, but, after entering the seminary, he had thought no more about them--thought no more about them for forty years.

The night before Benedetto's visit he had dreamed of the big rose garden in which his childhood had been spent.

The white roses were all bending towards him, and gazing at him in the dream-world, as pious souls gaze with curiosity on a pilgrim in the world of shadows.

They said to him: "Where are you going?
where are you going, poor friend?
Why do you not return to us ?" On waking he had felt a longing for roses, a tender longing that moved him to tears.