And the girl ran to meet a monk who was the last to arrive, without a wallet, and without an ass, but with a little purse simply. He was a tall, handsome man, of uncertain age; his beard was still as black as ebony, although his crown of hair was beginning to turn gray. The keenness of his black eyes, the noble contour of his aquiline nose, and the smile that played about his red lips, indicated robust health, conjoined with an amiable and decided character. He had neither the unhealthy thinness nor the absurd obesity of most of his brethren. His chestnut-colored frock was neat and clean, and he wore it with a majestic air. He won Michel's confidence at the first glance; but it angered the young man to see Mila almost throw her arms about the Capuchin's neck, and take his beard in her two little hands, laughing and pretending that she proposed to kiss him whether he would or not. "Come, come, little one, softly, softly," said the monk, pushing her away with fatherly gentleness. "No matter if I am your uncle, a monk musn't be kissed." Thereupon, Michel bethought him of the Capuchin Paolo-Angelo, of whom his father had so often spoken to him, and whom he had never seen. _Fra Angelo_ was Pier-Angelo's brother in affection not less than by birth. He was the youngest of Michel's uncles. His intellect and the dignity of his character made him the pride of the family, and as soon as Pier-Angelo saw him, he ran to Michel to introduce him. "Brother," said the old decorator, pressing the Capuchin's hand warmly, "give my son your blessing; I should have brought him to your convent to ask it before this if we had not been employed here a little beyond our strength." "My child," said Fra Angelo to his nephew, "I give you the blessing of a kinsman and a friend; I am happy to see you, and your face pleases me." "I can say the same," replied Michel, putting his hand in his uncle's. But, to manifest his affection, the good monk, who had the muscles of an athlete, squeezed his fingers so hard that the young man thought for a moment that the bones were broken. He did not wish to let it appear that that caress was a little too rough; but the perspiration stood out on his forehead, and he said to himself with a smile, that a man of the build of his uncle, the Capuchin, was better adapted to demand alms than to beg. But, as strength and gentleness almost always go hand in hand, Fra Angelo approached the distributor of alms with a self-restraint and reserve as marked as the eagerness and persistence of his fellows. He saluted him with a smile, opened his purse without deigning to put out his hand, and closed it without looking to see what had been put in it, muttering a very laconic sentence of thanks; after which he returned to his brother and nephew, refusing to burden himself with provisions of any sort. "In that case," said a very pious footman, "you have not enough money!"