If, as we are often assured, there is a pleasure unsuspected by the profane in getting even with a stranger, it must be an almost divine delight to get even with a young coxcomb upon whom one has to exercise so righteous a vengeance.
Arriving at Spoleto, Francis took to his bed.

A fever was consuming him; in a few hours he had seen all his dreams crumble away.

The very next day he took the road back to Assisi.[9] So unexpected a return made a great stir in the little city, and was a cruel blow to his parents.

As for him, he doubled his charities to the poor, and sought to keep aloof from society, but his old companions came flocking about him from all quarters, hoping to find in him once more the tireless purveyor of their idle wants.

He let them have their way.
Nevertheless a great change had taken place in him.