I heard them in silence and but little moved, yet with a question now and
then to probe how far this silly story went in detail. And whilst they
were still heaping abuse upon the Legate--of whom they spoke as Jews may
speak of pork--came the lantern-jawed host with a dish of broiled goat,
some bread, and a jug of wine. This he set before me, then joined them in
their vituperation of Messer Gambara.
I ate ravenously, and for all that I do not doubt the meat was tough and
burnt, yet at the time those pieces of broiled goat upon that dirty table
seemed the sweetest food that ever had been set before me.
Finding that I was but indifferently communicative and had little news to
give them, the peasants fell to gossiping among themselves, and they were
presently joined by the girl, whose name, it seemed, was Giovannozza. She
came to startle them with the rumour of a fresh miracle attributed to the
hermit of Monte Orsaro.
I looked up with more interest than I had hitherto shown in anything that
had been said, and I inquired who might be this anchorite.
"Sainted Virgin!" cried the girl, setting her hands upon her generous hips,
and turning her bold sloe-eyes upon me in a stare of incredulity. "Whence
are you, sir, that you seem to know nothing of the world? You had not
heard the news of Piacenza, which must be known to everyone by now; and you
have never heard of the anchorite of Monte Orsaro!" She appealed by a
gesture to Heaven against the Stygian darkness of my mind.
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