_Che_! Nonsense! At Villa Mayda nothing is known, and they will not even answer any more questions, for they are exasperated by the procession of people ringing the bell.

A squad of _carabinieri_ comes upon the scene, and charges down Via Galvani in serried ranks.
Hisses are heard, and angry cries: "They know! They took him away!" "No" shouts a woman who sells fruit, and who was one of a group on the corner of Via Alessandro Volta.

"It was a _delegato_! It was the police!" The members of that group are less enraged with the _delegato_ and the policemen than with the stupid bystanders, who might easily have thrown _delegato_, policemen, cab, horse and driver into the river, and, instead, had allowed themselves to be dispersed by a few words and a few drops of water! The little old woman who had brought Benedetto to the unfrocked monk was there also.

They stop her as she is coming out of the bakers' shop, and now she is telling for the hundredth time the story of the arrest, and crying, also for the hundredth time, as she tells of the roses, of the pious words, and describes how very ill the Saint looked.
Her audience is moved also, and mumbles praises of the Saint.

One relates a miraculous cure he has effected, another tells of a second cure; one mentions his way of speaking, which goes to the heart; another praises his face, which is as good as a sermon; one speaks of his poverty, and another tells of his charities, which are many, in spite of his poverty.