The man took the bag from the hands of the coadjutor, who heard the sound of his fingers counting and handling the gold pieces.
“Ah! ah!” said the coadjutor, “you are avaricious, my good fellow.”
The mendicant sighed and threw down the bag.
“Must I always be the same?” said he, “and shall I never succeed in overcoming the old leaven?
Oh, misery, oh, vanity!”
“You take it, however.”
“Yes, but I make hereby a vow in your presence, to employ all that remains to me in pious works.”
His face was pale and drawn, like that of a man who had just undergone some inward struggle.