of the future which was reserved for him. Never had any one seen him so
communicative, so radiant; and when he was asked for the hundredth time
whence came all this joy, he would reply with surprising assurance: "I
know that I shall become a great prince."[7]

The day of departure arrived at last. Francis on horseback, the little
buckler of a page on his arm, bade adieu to his natal city with joy, and
with the little troop took the road to Spoleto which winds around the
base of Mount Subasio.

What happened next? The documents do not say. They confine themselves to
reporting that that very evening Francis had a vision which decided him
to return to Assisi.[8] Perhaps it would not be far from the truth to
conjecture that once fairly on the way the young nobles took their
revenge on the son of Bernardone for his airs as of a future prince. At
twenty years one hardly pardons things like these. If, as we are often
assured, there is a pleasure unsuspected by the profane in getting even
with a stranger, it must be an almost divine delight to get even with a
young coxcomb upon whom one has to exercise so righteous a vengeance.

Arriving at Spoleto, Francis took to his bed. A fever was consuming him;
in a few hours he had seen all his dreams crumble away. The very next
day he took the road back to Assisi.[9]

So unexpected a return made a great stir in the little city, and was a
cruel blow to his parents. As for him, he doubled his charities to the
poor, and sought to keep aloof from society, but his old companions came
flocking about him from all quarters, hoping to find in him once more
the tireless purveyor of their idle wants. He let them have their way.