"We will do so presently," said Signor Logarini, in reply; "but, in
the first place, we wish to speak with Father Fabiano--he is the
custode of the church, is he not?"
"Father Fabiano is ill a-bed, Signor; I am only out of my bed since
yesterday, and it is as much as I can do to crawl. There's not many
days in the year, I think, that we are both well; and if we should
be both down together, God help us. It is not just the healthiest
place in the world, this."
"What is the matter with the padre? Has he been ill long?" asked the
lawyer, with a glance at the Commissary.
"Since yesterday afternoon. Why, I tell you I was in bed yesterday;
he down, I must turn out. Ah--h--h! it 'll all be over one of these
days."
"But what ails the custode?" asked Signor Logarini again.
"Fever and ague, I suppose; that is what is always killing both of
us more or less. Pity it is so slow about it!" muttered the lay-
brother, returning to his seat in the sunshine.
"But I suppose that Father Fabiano is not so ill but that we can
speak with him? It is important that we should do so," said the
Commissary, eyeing the friar with a suspicious glance.
"There is nothing to prevent you or anybody else going to him that
choose to do so--nothing to prevent any one of those cattle doing
so, for that matter. There is neither bolt nor latch; you can go
into his chamber, if you are so minded," returned the lay-brother,
rather surlily.
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