spoke with the Abbot, and then went to the Ospizio where pilgrims were sheltered. He found Benedetto asleep, his arms crossed upon his breast, his lips slightly parted, his face reflecting an inward vision of beatitude. Don Clemente stroked his hair, calling him softly. The young man started, raised his head with a dazed look, and, springing out of bed, grasped and kissed Don Clemente's hand. The monk withdrew it with an impulse of humility, quickly checked by the purity of his soul, by his consciousness of the dignity of his office.
"Well?" he said. "Did the Lord speak to you?"
"I am subject to His will," Benedetto replied, "as a leaf in the wind, a leaf which knows nought."
The monk took his head between his hands, drawing him towards him, and pressed his lips upon his hair, letting them rest there while their souls silently communed.
"You must go to the Abbot," he said. "Afterwards you can come to me."
Benedetto fixed his gaze upon him, questioning him without words: "Why this visit?" Don Clemente's eyes were veiled in silence, and the disciple humbled himself in a mute but visible impulse of obedience.
"At once?" he inquired.
"At once."
"May I first go and wash in the torrent?"
The master smiled:
"Go, wash in the torrent."
