It had the diabolic eyes of the Moro set in a shaven ecclesiastical face. The head rose up in the shadow, two long arms made in the air a violent gesture of impatience. At the same time Don Rocco repeated to the woman who stood hesitating: "Go back, go back, I am coming at once."
She went out.
Then the priest got up from his bench and went up to the high altar. The human figure in the pulpit came down again, and went rapidly into hiding. Don Rocco turned around so as to stand in cornu epistolæ, toward the empty benches, imagined them full of people, of his people of every Sunday, and a spirit of eloquence entered into him.
"I bless you all," said he in a strong voice. "I wish that you were all present, but that is not possible, because I must not let any one know. I bless you all, and ask you to pardon me if I have been wanting. Gloria Dei cum omnibus vobis."
The temptation was too strong for a certain person to resist. A cavernous voice resounded through the empty church:
"Amen."
Don Rocco remained breathless, with his hands in the air.
"Hurry up," said the servant, returning. "Do you not remember that you must leave out your cloak and your clothes?"
