"It may be that something may be to be picked up at the church
here."
"And then I must go on to the farm-house, where the Marchesino and
the prima donna left their carriage."
"We'll have a talk with the friars first."
As Fortini spoke the carriage drew up at the west front of the
desolate old basilica. It was a fine spring morning, and by the time
the lawyer and the Commissary reached the church, the sun had
dissipated the mist, and it was warm and pleasant.
The great doors of the church stood yawningly open as usual, and the
gate of iron rail was ajar. And at the south-western corner of the
building, just where the sun-ray from the south-west made a sharp
line against the black shadow cast by the western front of the
building, an old Franciscan was sitting; not Father Fabiano, but his
sole companion, Friar Simone, the lay-brother.
Neither Signor Fortini nor the police Commissary had ever seen the
old guardian of the Basilica; but they were sufficiently instructed
in the details of Franciscan costume to perceive at once that the
figure before them was not a priest, but only a lay-brother.
"Is there any place, frate, where I can put my horse and carriage
under shelter for half an hour or so?" said the lawyer, as the old
friar, having risen from his seat in the sunshine, came forward
towards the carriage.
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