"Well, have you heard the news? Thank God, it's all ended! The hand of
God is in it! What do you think of it all? Tell us, let us hear your
opinion!"

"But what news?" asked the priest, looking from one to the other with
astonished eyes.

In wild haste, and all speaking at once, they poured out the story of
the festival, the forgiveness, the reconciliation.

The priest stared at them, with the look of a man who finds himself
unexpectedly surrounded by lunatics; then, with a withering glance at
the boy, and a smile of malignant triumph--

"Luckily," he said, "there is not a word of truth in it!"

"Not a word of truth in it?" they clamored, turning upon their
informant.

The boy, unmoved by their agitation, returned the priest's look half-
scornfully, half-sadly.

"Your reverence, don't say fortunately. Since you are an Italian, say
rather, 'Alas, that it is not so!'"

For a moment the others stood aghast; then, angered, as people will be,
rather against those who undeceive them than against those who delude
them, they turned towards the priest, involuntarily echoing the boy's
words: "He's right, your reverence! Say rather, 'Alas, that it is not
so!'"