think, delights me,” continued the voice of Curatulo; “never have I known a companion who perceived so exquisitely.”
“Is n’t it shameful to see those poor, ignorant people encouraged to kiss the toe of that brazen image?” said Mrs. Garrison, as they came upon the statue passed off upon the “faithful” as that of St. Peter.
A peasant knelt on the cold stone beneath the image, his hat pressed to his chest, his eyes, expressionless and hypnotized, fixed upon the lifted bronze hand. A woman and child came by, wiped the foot that has been many times kissed away, put their lips to it, crossed themselves, and passed on.
“What does it mean to them?” asked Anne wonderingly.
“If they kiss it a certain number of days, they win a certain number of years from Purgatory,” explained Curatulo.
“Did you see them wipe the foot before kissing it?” asked Mrs. Garrison dryly. “It seems odd that a foot which can have power to take you out of Purgatory can’t protect you from germs. But I beg your pardon, Mr. Curatulo, you may be yourself a Catholic.”
“I am,” he answered carelessly , “but do not let that disturb you. I do not believe any of it.”
62
