And then it was that the Count, after leaning forward, exclaimed: "Just look ahead, yonder, there's our man of this morning, Santobono in person--what a strapping fellow he is, and how fast he walks! My horses can scarcely overtake him." Pierre in his turn leant forward and likewise perceived the priest of St.
Mary in the Fields, looking tall and knotty, fashioned as it were with a bill-hook.

Robed in a long black cassock, he showed like a vigorous splotch of ink amidst the bright sunshine streaming around him; and he was walking on at such a fast, stern, regular pace that he suggested Destiny on the march.

Something, which could not be well distinguished, was hanging from his right arm.
When the carriage had at last overtaken him Prada told the coachman to slacken speed, and then entered into conversation.
"Good-day, Abbe; you are well, I hope ?" he asked.
"Very well, Signor Conte, I thank you." "And where are you going so bravely ?" "Signor Conte, I am going to Rome." "What! to Rome, at this late hour ?" "Oh! I shall be there nearly as soon as yourself.

The distance doesn't frighten me, and money's quickly earned by walking." Scarcely turning his head to reply, stepping out beside the wheels, Santobono did not miss a stride.

And Prada, diverted by the meeting, whispered to Pierre: "Wait a bit, he'll amuse us." Then he added aloud: "Since you are going to Rome, Abbe, you had better get in here; there's room for you." Santobono required no pressing, but at once accepted the offer.
"Willingly; a thousand thanks," he said.