Others plied their trade gayly, with jests that made the distributors laugh, and they showed so much wit and good-nature that the servants secretly slipped the best pieces into their wallets. At Rome Michel had seen dandified Capuchins, redolent with perfume under their frocks, and displaying their sandals, with poetic gravity, in close proximity to the Holy Father's consecrated slipper. The poverty-stricken Sicilian monks seemed to him very indecent, very laughable, and ever so little cynical, when they swooped down upon the crumbs of that feast like a flock of greedy crows and chattering magpies. He was attracted, however, by the high-spirited and intelligent faces of some of them. It was the Sicilian common people again, in the sack-cloth of the cloister--a noble race which bends beneath the yoke but cannot be broken. The young artist had returned to the ball-room to look on at this curious spectacle, and he watched its various incidents with the attention of a painter who turns everything to his own profit. He noticed especially one of the monks, whose hood was pulled down to the end of his beard, and who did not beg. He kept apart from the others, and walked about the room as if he were more interested in the place where the fête had been given than in the possible benefit he might derive from it. Michel tried several times to see his features, and to judge therefrom whether the intelligent mind of an artist or the regrets of a man of the world were concealed beneath that monkish garb. He saw him stealthily put aside his hood but once, and then he was impressed by his repulsive ugliness. At the same instant the monk turned his eyes upon him with an expression of malevolent curiosity; and instantly looked away as if he feared to be surprised staring at other people. "I have seen that ugly face somewhere," said Michel to his sister, who was standing by his side. "Do you call that a face?" replied the girl. "I saw nothing but a goat's beard, the eyes of an owl, and a nose that looked like an old crushed fig. You won't paint his portrait, I hope?" "You said just now, Mila, that you knew several of these monks from having seen them begging in our suburb; have you ever met that fellow?" "I don't think so; but, if you are anxious to find out his name, it will be very easy, for here is a brother who will tell me."