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when speaking of money matters. And, at this recollection, the young

priest's mind reverted to the castle fields, and intense sadness filled

his heart as for the last time all the want and suffering rose before

him. Again he beheld the horrible filth which was tainting so many human

beings, that shocking proof of the abominable social injustice which

condemns the greater number to lead the joyless, breadless lives of

accursed beasts. And as his glance returned yet once more to the window

of the Vatican, and he fancied he could see a pale hand uplifted behind

the glass panes, he thought of that papal benediction which Leo XIII gave

from that height, over Rome, and over the plain and the hills, to the

faithful of all Christendom. And that papal benediction suddenly seemed

to him a mockery, destitute of all power, since throughout such a

multitude of centuries it had not once been able to stay a single one of

the sufferings of mankind, and could not even bring a little justice for

those poor wretches who were agonising yonder beneath the very window.

IX.

THAT evening at dusk, as Benedetta had sent Pierre word that she desired

to see him, he went down to her little _salon_, and there found her

chatting with Celia.

"I've seen your Pierina, you know," exclaimed the latter, just as the

young priest came in. "And with Dario, too. Or rather, she must have been

watching for him; he found her waiting in a path on the Pincio and smiled

at her. I understood at once. What a beauty she is!"

Benedetta smiled at her friend's enthusiasm; but her lips twitched

somewhat painfully, for, however sensible she might be, this passion,

which she realised to be so naive and so strong, was beginning to make

her suffer. She certainly made allowances for Dario, but the girl was too

much in love with him, and she feared the consequences. Even in turning

the conversation she allowed the secret of her heart to escape her. "Pray

sit down, Monsieur l'Abbe," she said, "we are talking scandal, you see.

My poor Dario is accused of making love to every pretty woman in Rome.

People say that it's he who gives La Tonietta those white roses which she

has been exhibiting at the Corso every afternoon for a fortnight past."

"That's certain, my dear," retorted Celia impetuously. "At first people

were in doubt, and talked of little Pontecorvo and Lieutenant Moretta.

But every one now knows that La Tonietta's caprice is Dario. Besides, he

joined her in her box at the Costanzi the other evening."

Pierre remembered that the young Prince had pointed out La Tonietta at

the Pincio one afternoon. She was one of the few _demi-mondaines_ that

the higher-class society of Rome took an interest in. For a month or so

the rich Englishman to whom she owed her means had been absent,

travelling.

"Ah!" resumed Benedetta, whose budding jealousy was entirely confined to

La Pierina, "so my poor Dario is ruining himself in white roses! Well, I

shall have to twit him about it. But one or another of these beauties

will end by robbing me of him if our affairs are not soon settled.

Fortunately, I have had some better news. Yes, my suit is to be taken in

hand again, and my aunt has gone out to-day on that very account."

Then, as Victorine came in with a lamp, and Celia rose to depart,

Benedetta turned towards Pierre, who also was rising from his chair:

"Please stay," said she; "I wish to speak to you."

However, Celia still lingered, interested by the mention of the divorce

suit, and eager to know if the cousins would soon be able to marry. And

at last throwing her arms round Benedetta, she kissed her passionately.

"So you are hopeful, my dear," she exclaimed. "You think that the Holy

Father will give you back your liberty? Oh! I am so pleased; it will be

so nice for you to marry Dario! And I'm well pleased on my own account,

for my father and mother are beginning to yield. Only yesterday I said to

them with that quiet little air of mine, 'I want Attilio, and you must

give him me.' And then my father flew into a furious passion and

upbraided me, and shook his fist at me, saying that if he'd made my head

as hard as his own he would know how to break it. My mother was there

quite silent and vexed, and all at once he turned to her and said: 'Here,

give her that Attilio she wants, and then perhaps we shall have some

peace!' Oh yes! I'm well pleased, very well pleased indeed!"

As she spoke her pure virginal face beamed with so much innocent,

celestial joy that Pierre and Benedetta could not help laughing. And at

last she went off attended by a maid who had waited for her in the first

_salon_.

When they were alone Benedetta made the priest sit down again: "I have

been asked to give you some important advice, my friend," she said. "It

seems that the news of your presence in Rome is spreading, and that bad

reports of you are circulated. Your book is said to be a fierce appeal to

schism, and you are spoken of as a mere ambitious, turbulent schismatic.

After publishing your book in Paris you have come to Rome, it is said, to

raise a fearful scandal over it in order to make it sell. Now, if you

still desire to see his Holiness, so as to plead your cause before him,

you are advised to make people forget you, to disappear altogether for a

fortnight or three weeks."

Pierre was stupefied. Why, they would end by maddening him with all the

obstacles they raised to exhaust his patience; they would actually

implant in him an idea of schism, of an avenging, liberating scandal! He

wished to protest and refuse the advice, but all at once he made a

gesture of weariness. What would be the good of it, especially with that

young woman, who was certainly sincere and affectionate. "Who asked you

to give me this advice?" he inquired. She did not answer, but smiled, and

with sudden intuition he resumed: "It was Monsignor Nani, was it not?"

Thereupon, still unwilling to give a direct reply, she began to praise

the prelate. He had at last consented to guide her in her divorce affair;

and Donna Serafina had gone to the Palace of the Inquisition that very

afternoon in order to acquaint him with the result of certain steps she

had taken. Father Lorenza, the confessor of both the Boccanera ladies,

was to be present at the interview, for the idea of the divorce was in

reality his own. He had urged the two women to it in his eagerness to

sever the bond which the patriotic priest Pisoni had tied full of such

fine illusions. Benedetta became quite animated as she explained the

reasons of her hopefulness. "Monsignor Nani can do everything," she said,

"and I am very happy that my affair should be in his hands. You must be

reasonable also, my friend; do as you are requested. I'm sure you will

some day be well pleased at having taken this advice."

Pierre had bowed his head and remained thoughtful. There was nothing

unpleasant in the idea of remaining for a few more weeks in Rome, where

day by day his curiosity found so much fresh food. Of course, all these

delays were calculated to discourage him and bend his will. Yet what did

he fear, since he was still determined to relinquish nothing of his book,

and to see the Holy Father for the sole purpose of proclaiming his new

faith? Once more, in silence, he took that oath, then yielded to

Benedetta's entreaties. And as he apologised for being a source of

embarrassment in the house she exclaimed: "No, no, I am delighted to have

you here. I fancy that your presence will bring us good fortune now that

luck seems to be changing in our favour."

It was then agreed that he would no longer prowl around St. Peter's and

the Vatican, where his constant presence must have attracted attention.

He even promised that he would virtually spend a week indoors, desirous

as he was of reperusing certain books, certain pages of Rome's history.

Then he went on chatting for a moment, lulled by the peacefulness which

reigned around him, since the lamp had illumined the _salon_ with its

sleepy radiance. Six o'clock had just struck, and outside all was dark.

"Wasn't his Eminence indisposed to-day?" the young man asked.

"Yes," replied the Contessina. "But we are not anxious: it is only a

little fatigue. He sent Don Vigilio to tell me that he intended to shut

himself up in his room and dictate some letters. So there can be nothing

much the matter, you see."

Silence fell again. For a while not a sound came from the deserted street

or the old empty mansion, mute and dreamy like a tomb. But all at once

the soft somnolence, instinct with all the sweetness of a dream of hope,

was disturbed by a tempestuous entry, a whirl of skirts, a gasp of

terror. It was Victorine, who had gone off after bringing the lamp, but

now returned, scared and breathless: "Contessina! Contessina!"

Benedetta had risen, suddenly quite white and cold, as at the advent of a

blast of misfortune. "What, what is it? Why do you run and tremble?" she

asked.

"Dario, Monsieur Dario--down below. I went down to see if the lantern in

the porch were alight, as it is so often forgotten. And in the dark, in

the porch, I stumbled against Monsieur Dario. He is on the ground; he has

a knife-thrust somewhere."

A cry leapt from the _amorosa's_ heart: "Dead!"

"No, no, wounded."

But Benedetta did not hear; in a louder and louder voice she cried:

"Dead! dead!"

"No, no, I tell you, he spoke to me. And for Heaven's sake, be quiet. He

silenced me because he did not want any one to know; he told me to come

and fetch you--only you. However, as Monsieur l'Abbe is here, he had

better help us. We shall be none too many."

Pierre listened, also quite aghast. And when Victorine wished to take the

lamp her trembling hand, with which she had no doubt felt the prostrate

body, was seen to be quite bloody. The sight filled Benedetta with so

much horror that she again began to moan wildly.

"Be quiet, be quiet!" repeated Victorine. "We ought not to make any noise

in going down. I shall take the lamp, because we must at all events be

able to see. Now, quick, quick!"

Across the porch, just at the entrance of the vestibule, Dario lay prone

upon the slabs, as if, after being stabbed in the street, he had only had

sufficient strength to take a few steps before falling. And he had just

fainted, and lay there with his face very pale, his lips compressed, and

his eyes closed. Benedetta, recovering the energy of her race amidst her

excessive grief, no longer lamented or cried out, but gazed at him with

wild, tearless, dilated eyes, as though unable to understand. The horror

of it all was the suddenness and mysteriousness of the catastrophe, the

why and wherefore of this murderous attempt amidst the silence of the old

deserted palace, black with the shades of night. The wound had as yet

bled but little, for only the Prince's clothes were stained.

"Quick, quick!" repeated Victorine in an undertone after lowering the

lamp and moving it around. "The porter isn't there--he's always at the

carpenter's next door--and you see that he hasn't yet lighted the

lantern. Still he may come back at any moment. So the Abbe and I will

carry the Prince into his room at once." She alone retained her head,

like a woman of well-balanced mind and quiet activity. The two others,

whose stupor continued, listened to her and obeyed her with the docility

of children. "Contessina," she continued, "you must light us. Here, take

the lamp and lower it a little so that we may see the steps. You, Abbe,

take the feet; I'll take hold of him under the armpits. And don't be

alarmed, the poor dear fellow isn't heavy."

Ah! that ascent of the monumental staircase with its low steps and its

landings as spacious as guardrooms. They facilitated the cruel journey,

but how lugubrious looked the little _cortege_ under the flickering

glimmer of the lamp which Benedetta held with arm outstretched, stiffened

by determination! And still not a sound came from the old lifeless

dwelling, nothing but the silent crumbling of the walls, the slow decay

which was making the ceilings crack. Victorine continued to whisper words

of advice whilst Pierre, afraid of slipping on the shiny slabs, put forth

an excess of strength which made his breath come short. Huge, wild

shadows danced over the big expanse of bare wall up to the very vaults

decorated with sunken panels. So endless seemed the ascent that at last a

halt became necessary; but the slow march was soon resumed. Fortunately

Dario's apartments--bed-chamber, dressing-room, and sitting-room--were on

the first floor adjoining those of the Cardinal in the wing facing the

Tiber; so, on reaching the landing, they only had to walk softly along

the corridor, and at last, to their great relief, laid the wounded man

upon his bed.

Victorine vented her satisfaction in a light laugh. "That's done," said

she; "put the lamp on that table, Contessina. I'm sure nobody heard us.

It's lucky that Donna Serafina should have gone out, and that his

Eminence should have shut himself up with Don Vigilio. I wrapped my skirt

round Monsieur Dario's shoulders, you know, so I don't think any blood

fell on the stairs. By and by, too, I'll go down with a sponge and wipe

the slabs in the porch--" She stopped short, looked at Dario, and then

quickly added: "He's breathing--now I'll leave you both to watch over him

while I go for good Doctor Giordano, who saw you come into the world,

Contessina. He's a man to be trusted."

Alone with the unconscious sufferer in that dim chamber, which seemed to

quiver with the frightful horror that filled their hearts, Benedetta and

Pierre remained on either side of the bed, as yet unable to exchange a