“Where can I find the Padre Curato?” inquired the Prince.  The man looked at him but made no answer, and proceeded to close the doors with great care.  He was an old man in a shabby cassock, with four days’ beard on his face, and he appeared to have taken snuff recently.

“Where is the Curator?” repeated the Prince, plucking him by the sleeve.  But the man shook his head, and began turning the ponderous key in the lock.  Two little ragged boys were playing a game upon the church steps, piling five chestnuts in a heap and then knocking them down with a small stone.  One of them having upset the heap, desisted and came near the Prince.

“That one is deaf,” he said, pointing to the sacristan.  Then running behind, him he stood on tiptoe and screamed in his ear—­“Brutta bestia!”

The sacristan did not hear, but caught sight of the urchin and made a lunge at him.  He missed him, however, and nearly fell over.

“What education!—­che educazione!” cried the old man, angrily.

Meanwhile the little boy took refuge behind Saracinesca, and pulling his coat asked for a soldo.  The sacristan calmly withdrew the key from the lock, and went away without vouchsafing a look to the Prince.

“He is deaf,” screamed the little boy, who was now joined by his companion, and both in great excitement danced round the fine gentleman.

“Give me a soldo,” they yelled together.

“Show me the house of the Padre Curato,” answered the Prince, “then I will give you each a soldo.  Lesti! Quick!”

Whereupon both the boys began turning cart-wheels on their feet and hands with marvellous dexterity.  At last they subsided into a natural position, and led the way to the curate’s house, not twenty yards from the church, in a narrow alley.  The Prince pulled the bell by the long chain which hung beside the open street door, and gave the boys the promised coppers.  They did not leave him, however, but stood by to see what would happen.  An old woman looked out of an upper window, and after surveying the Prince with care, called down to him—­

“What do you want?”

“Is the Padre Curato at home?”

“Of course he is at home,” screamed the old woman, “At this hour!” she added, contemptuously.

“Ebbene—­can I see him?”

“What! is the door shut?” returned the hag.

“No.”

“Then why don’t you come up without asking?” The old woman’s head disappeared, and the window was shut with a clattering noise.

“She is a woman without education,” remarked one of the ragged boys, making a face towards the closed window.