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wolf passed by here.' I kept quiet. What was I to say to this thickheaded bumpkin with his brain filled with sheep and wolves? How could he ever understand anything higher! As for me, I was certain those were God's footprints upon the snow. . . . I've been pursuing Him for twelve years, Sior Francis, but these are the only signs I've found. Forgive me."

    Lowering his head, Francis plunged deep into thought. "Do not sigh, Brother Leo," he murmured after a moment. "Who knows, perhaps God is simply the search for God."

    These words frightened me. They frightened Francis also. He hid his face in his hands.

    "What demon is speaking within me?" he growled in despair.

    I didn't breathe a word, but stood there trembling. To search for God, was that God? If so, woe unto us!

    Neither of us spoke. Francis' eyes had rolled in their sockets again; I saw only the whites. His cheeks were flushed, his teeth chattering. I covered him with a thick woolen blanket, but he tossed it aside. "I want to be cold," he said. "Leave me! Don't stare at me; do your staring somewhere else!"

    I got up to depart, but his expression grew fierce. "Where are you going?" he said to me. "Sit down! Do you plan to leave me all alone like this when I'm in danger? You spoke, you found relief. Now I want to speak, I want to find relief. Where's your mind--on food? Eat then, go to the larder and eat. And drink some wine. What I'm going to tell you is very unpleasant. Fortify yourself so that you'll be able to listen. Do not desert me!"

    "I have no need to eat or drink," I answered, hurt. "What do you think I am, nothing but stomach? To listen--that's what I was born for, I want you to know; just for that: to listen. So go ahead and speak. No matter what you say, I'll be able to bear it."

    "Give me a glass of water. I'm thirsty."

    He drank, then leaned back on his pillow, cocked his ear, and listened intently, his mouth half open. The house was silent, empty. A rooster crowed in the courtyard.

    "I think none but the two of us is left in the world, Brother Leo. Do you hear anyone inside the house, or outside? The world has been destroyed and only the two of us remain."

    He was silent for a moment, but then he said, "Glory be to God," crossed himself, and looked at me. I felt his gaze pierce deep down into my soul. After another silence he reached out and grasped my knee. "Bless me, Father Leo," he said. "You are my confessor; I am about to confess."

    Seeing me hesitate, he said in a commanding tone, "Place your hand upon my head, Father Leo, and say, 'Francis, son of Bernardone, you have sinned: confess, in God's name. Your heart is filled with sins. Empty it that you may find relief!' "

    I remained silent.

    "Do what I tell you!" he said, angrily this time.

    I placed my hand on his head. It was a burning, smoldering coal.

    "Francis, son of Bernardone," I murmured, "you have sinned: confess, in God's name. Your heart is filled with sins. Empty it that you may find relief!"

    Then, remaining calm in the beginning but as he proceeded growing more and more agitated until finally he was gasping for breath, Francis began his confession:

    "My life until now has been nothing but banquets, revels, lutes, red plumes, clothes of silk. All day long--business. I gave short measure, cheated the customers, amassed money and then squandered it with both hands--which is why I came to be called 'Leaky Palms.' Business by day, wine and singing by night: that was my life.

    "But yesterday after we came home in the middle of the night and you fell into bed and slept, a great weight began to press down upon me. The house grew too constricting; I felt suffocated, so I went quietly downstairs, slipped into the yard, opened the street door like a thief, and dashed out into the road. The moon was about to set; its light had already waned. There wasn't a sound. All the lamps were out: the city was asleep in God's bosom.

    "I spread my arms and took a deep breath. This made me feel