第 81 页

forces which man cannot control. Possibly he was mistaken, possibly this

was some mere indisposition at which the doctor would smile. One must

hope and wait. And again he went off and again he came back; and amidst

the heavy silence nothing more clearly bespoke the torture of anxious

fear than the rhythmical footsteps of that tall old man who was thus

awaiting Destiny.

The door opened, and Victorine came in breathless. "I found the doctor,

here he is," she gasped.

With his little pink face and white curls, his discreet paternal bearing

which gave him the air of an amiable prelate, Doctor Giordano came in

smiling; but on seeing that room and all the anxious people waiting in

it, he turned very grave, at once assuming the expression of profound

respect for all ecclesiastical secrets which he had acquired by long

practice among the clergy. And when he had glanced at the sufferer he let

but a low murmur escape him: "What, again! Is it beginning again!"

He was probably alluding to the knife thrust for which he had recently

tended Dario. Who could be thus relentlessly pursuing that poor and

inoffensive young prince? However no one heard the doctor unless it were

Benedetta, and she was so full of feverish impatience, so eager to be

tranquillised, that she did not listen but burst into fresh entreaties:

"Oh! doctor, pray look at him, examine him, tell us that it is nothing.

It can't be anything serious, since he was so well and gay but a little

while ago. It's nothing serious, is it?"

"You are right no doubt, Contessina, it can be nothing dangerous. We will

see."

However, on turning round, Doctor Giordano perceived the Cardinal, who

with regular, thoughtful footsteps had come back from the dining-room to

place himself at the foot of the bed. And while bowing, the doctor

doubtless detected a gleam of mortal anxiety in the dark eyes fixed upon

his own, for he added nothing but began to examine Dario like a man who

realises that time is precious. And as his examination progressed the

affable optimism which usually appeared upon his countenance gave place

to ashen gravity, a covert terror which made his lips slightly tremble.

It was he who had attended Monsignor Gallo when the latter had been

carried off so mysteriously; it was he who for imperative reasons had

then delivered a certificate stating the cause of death to be infectious

fever; and doubtless he now found the same terrible symptoms as in that

case, a leaden hue overspreading the sufferer's features, a stupor as of

excessive intoxication; and, old Roman practitioner that he was,

accustomed to sudden deaths, he realised that the _malaria_ which kills

was passing, that _malaria_ which science does not yet fully understand,

which may come from the putrescent exhalations of the Tiber unless it be

but a name for the ancient poison of the legends.

As the doctor raised his head his glance again encountered the black eyes

of the Cardinal, which never left him. "Signor Giordano," said his

Eminence, "you are not over-anxious, I hope? It is only some case of

indigestion, is it not?"

The doctor again bowed. By the slight quiver of the Cardinal's voice he

understood how acute was the anxiety of that powerful man, who once more

was stricken in his dearest affections.

"Your Eminence must be right," he said, "there's a bad digestion

certainly. Such accidents sometimes become dangerous when fever

supervenes. I need not tell your Eminence how thoroughly you may rely on

my prudence and zeal." Then he broke off and added in a clear

professional voice: "We must lose no time; the Prince must be undressed.

I should prefer to remain alone with him for a moment."

Whilst speaking in this way, however, Doctor Giordano detained Victorine,

who would be able to help him, said he; should he need any further

assistance he would take Giacomo. His evident desire was to get rid of

the members of the family in order that he might have more freedom of

action. And the Cardinal, who understood him, gently led Benedetta into

the dining-room, whither Pierre and Don Vigilio followed.

When the doors had been closed, the most mournful and oppressive silence

reigned in that dining-room, which the bright sun of winter filled with

such delightful warmth and radiance. The table was still laid, its cloth

strewn here and there with bread-crumbs; and a coffee cup had remained

half full. In the centre stood the basket of figs, whose covering of

leaves had been removed. However, only two or three of the figs were

missing. And in front of the window was Tata, the female parrot, who had

flown out of her cage and perched herself on her stand, where she

remained, dazzled and enraptured, amidst the dancing dust of a broad

yellow sunray. In her astonishment however, at seeing so many people

enter, she had ceased to scream and smooth her feathers, and had turned

her head the better to examine the newcomers with her round and

scrutinising eye.

The minutes went by slowly amidst all the feverish anxiety as to what

might be occurring in the neighbouring room. Don Vigilio had taken a

corner seat in silence, whilst Benedetta and Pierre, who had remained

standing, preserved similar muteness, and immobility. But the Cardinal

had reverted to that instinctive, lulling tramp by which he apparently

hoped to quiet his impatience and arrive the sooner at the explanation

for which he was groping through a tumultuous maze of ideas. And whilst

his rhythmical footsteps resounded with mechanical regularity, dark fury

was taking possession of his mind, exasperation at being unable to

understand the why and wherefore of that sickness. As he passed the table

he had twice glanced at the things lying on it in confusion, as if

seeking some explanation from them. Perhaps the harm had been done by

that unfinished coffee, or by that bread whose crumbs lay here and there,

or by those cutlets, a bone of which remained? Then as for the third time

he passed by, again glancing, his eyes fell upon the basket of figs, and

at once he stopped, as if beneath the shock of a revelation. An idea

seized upon him and mastered him, without any plan, however, occurring to

him by which he might change his sudden suspicion into certainty. For a

moment he remained puzzled with his eyes fixed upon the basket. Then he

took a fig and examined it, but, noticing nothing strange, was about to

put it back when Tata, the parrot, who was very fond of figs, raised a

strident cry. And this was like a ray of light; the means of changing

suspicion into certainty was found.

Slowly, with grave air and gloomy visage, the Cardinal carried the fig to

the parrot and gave it to her without hesitation or regret. She was a

very pretty bird, the only being of the lower order of creation to which

he had ever really been attached. Stretching out her supple, delicate

form, whose silken feathers of dull green here and there assumed a pinky

tinge in the sunlight, she took hold of the fig with her claws, then

ripped it open with her beak. But when she had raked it she ate but

little, and let all the rest fall upon the floor. Still grave and

impassible, the Cardinal looked at her and waited. Quite three minutes

went by, and then feeling reassured, he began to scratch the bird's poll,

whilst she, taking pleasure in the caress, turned her neck and fixed her

bright ruby eye upon her master. But all at once she sank back without

even a flap of the wings, and fell like a bullet. She was dead, killed as

by a thunderbolt.

Boccanera made but a gesture, raising both hands to heaven as if in

horror at what he now knew. Great God! such a terrible crime, and such a

fearful mistake, such an abominable trick of Destiny! No cry of grief

came from him, but the gloom upon his face grew black and fierce. Yet

there was a cry, a piercing cry from Benedetta, who like Pierre and Don

Vigilio had watched the Cardinal with an astonishment which had changed

into terror: "Poison! poison! Ah! Dario, my heart, my soul!"

But the Cardinal violently caught his niece by the wrist, whilst darting

a suspicious glance at the two petty priests, the secretary and the

foreigner, who were present: "Be quiet, be quiet!" said he.

She shook herself free, rebelling, frantic with rage and hatred: "Why

should I be quiet!" she cried. "It is Prada's work, I shall denounce him,

he shall die as well! I tell you it is Prada, I know it, for yesterday

Abbe Froment came back with him from Frascati in his carriage with that

priest Santobono and that basket of figs! Yes, yes, I have witnesses, it

is Prada, Prada!"

"No, no, you are mad, be quiet!" said the Cardinal, who had again taken

hold of the young woman's hands and sought to master her with all his

sovereign authority. He, who knew the influence which Cardinal

Sanguinetti exercised over Santobono's excitable mind, had just

understood the whole affair; no direct complicity but covert propulsion,

the animal excited and then let loose upon the troublesome rival at the

moment when the pontifical throne seemed likely to be vacant. The

probability, the certainty of all this flashed upon Boccanera who, though

some points remained obscure, did not seek to penetrate them. It was not

necessary indeed that he should know every particular: the thing was as

he said, since it was bound to be so. "No, no, it was not Prada," he

exclaimed, addressing Benedetta. "That man can bear me no personal

grudge, and I alone was aimed at, it was to me that those figs were

given. Come, think it out! Only an unforeseen indisposition prevented me

from eating the greater part of the fruit, for it is known that I am very

fond of figs, and while my poor Dario was tasting them, I jested and told

him to leave the finer ones for me to-morrow. Yes, the abominable blow

was meant for me, and it is on him that it has fallen by the most

atrocious of chances, the most monstrous of the follies of fate. Ah! Lord

God, Lord God, have you then forsaken us!"

Tears came into the old man's eyes, whilst she still quivered and seemed

unconvinced: "But you have no enemies, uncle," she said. "Why should that

Santobono try to take your life?"

For a moment he found no fitting reply. With supreme grandeur he had

already resolved to keep the truth secret. Then a recollection came to

him, and he resigned himself to the telling of a lie: "Santobono's mind

has always been somewhat unhinged," said he, "and I know that he has

hated me ever since I refused to help him to get a brother of his, one of

our former gardeners, out of prison. Deadly spite often has no more

serious cause. He must have thought that he had reason to be revenged on

me."

Thereupon Benedetta, exhausted, unable to argue any further, sank upon a

chair with a despairing gesture: "Ah! God, God! I no longer know--and

what matters it now that my Dario is in such danger? There's only one

thing to be done, he must be saved. How long they are over what they are

doing in that room--why does not Victorine come for us!"

The silence again fell, full of terror. Without speaking the Cardinal

took the basket of figs from the table and carried it to a cupboard in

which he locked it. Then he put the key in his pocket. No doubt, when

night had fallen, he himself would throw the proofs of the crime into the

Tiber. However, on coming back from the cupboard he noticed the two

priests, who naturally had watched him; and with mingled grandeur and

simplicity he said to them: "Gentlemen, I need not ask you to be

discreet. There are scandals which we must spare the Church, which is

not, cannot be guilty. To deliver one of ourselves, even when he is a

criminal, to the civil tribunals, often means a blow for the whole

Church, for men of evil mind may lay hold of the affair and seek to

impute the responsibility of the crime even to the Church itself. We

therefore have but to commit the murderer to the hands of God, who will

know more surely how to punish him. Ah! for my part, whether I be struck

in my own person or whether the blow be directed against my family, my

dearest affections, I declare in the name of the Christ who died upon the

cross, that I feel neither anger, nor desire for vengeance, that I efface

the murderer's name from my memory and bury his abominable act in the

eternal silence of the grave."

Tall as he was, he seemed of yet loftier stature whilst with hand

upraised he took that oath to leave his enemies to the justice of God

alone; for he did not refer merely to Santobono, but to Cardinal

Sanguinetti, whose evil influence he had divined. And amidst all the

heroism of his pride, he was rent by tragic dolour at thought of the dark

battle which was waged around the tiara, all the evil hatred and

voracious appetite which stirred in the depths of the gloom. Then, as

Pierre and Don Vigilio bowed to him as a sign that they would preserve

silence, he almost choked with invincible emotion, a sob of loving grief

which he strove to keep down rising to his throat, whilst he stammered:

"Ah! my poor child, my poor child, the only scion of our race, the only

love and hope of my heart! Ah! to die, to die like this!"

But Benedetta, again all violence, sprang up: "Die! Who, Dario? I won't

have it! We'll nurse him, we'll go back to him. We will take him in our

arms and save him. Come, uncle, come at once! I won't, I won't, I won't

have him die!"

She was going towards the door, and nothing would have prevented her from

re-entering the bed-room, when, as it happened, Victorine appeared with a

wild look on her face, for, despite her wonted serenity, all her courage

was now exhausted. "The doctor begs madame and his Eminence to come at

once, at once," said she.

Stupefied by all these things, Pierre did not follow the others, but

lingered for a moment in the sunlit dining-room with Don Vigilio. What!

poison? Poison as in the time of the Borgias, elegantly hidden away,