Part 71 (1/2)
”And he knew nothing of it--” interposed Sovrani grimly. ”Of course--he knew nothing!”
”He knew nothing--how should he know!” responded Gherardi calmly--”The terrible shock threw him into a delirium and fever--he was found in a dead swoon and taken into the monastery for shelter. I saw him there only yesterday.”
He paused. No one spoke.
”He was to have come to Rome to-day, and a full explanation of his absence would have been given. But last night the monastery was set on fire--”
”Thank G.o.d!” said Sovrani.
Gherardi looked at him with an air of admirably affected sorrowful reproach.
”I grieve for your injustice and cruelty, Prince!” he said--”Some natural regret there should surely be in your mind at the tragic end of one so highly gifted--one whom you had accepted as your future son-in-law. He met with a terrible death! The monastery was set on fire, as I have told you--but the doors had all been previously locked within, it is supposed by one of the monks named Ambrosio, who was subject to fits of insanity--with the tragic result that he and Varillo perished in the flames, there being no possibility of rescue.”
”Then the guillotine is saved unnecessary soiling,” said Sovrani fiercely. ”And you, Monsignor Gherardi, should have a special 'Jubilate' sung for the world being well-rid of an exceptionally d.a.m.ned and d.a.m.nable villain!”
There was something terrific in the aspect of Sovrani's face and threatening att.i.tude, and for a moment Gherardi hesitated to go on with his prepared sequence of lies. Rallying his forces at last with an effort he made a very good a.s.sumption of his most authoritative manner.
”Prince, I must ask you to be good enough to hear me patiently,” he said. ”Your mind has been grossly abused, and you are not aware of the true position of affairs. You imagine with some few gossips in Rome, that Florian Varillo, your daughter's betrothed husband, was guilty of the murderous attack upon her life--you are mistaken!”
”Mistaken!” Prince Pietro laughed scornfully. ”Prove my mistake!--prove it!”
”I give you my word!” said Gherardi. ”And I also swear to you that the picture yonder, which, though offensive to the Church and blasphemous in its teaching, is nevertheless a great masterpiece of painting, is the work of the unfortunate dead man you so greatly wrong!”
”Liar!” And Cyrillon Vergniaud sprang forward, interposing himself between Sovrani and the priest. ”Liar!”
Gherardi turned a livid white.
”Who is this ruffian?” he demanded, drawing his tall form up more haughtily than before. ”A servant of yours?”
”Ay, a servant of his, and of all honest men!” returned Cyrillon. ”I am one whom your Church has learned to fear, but who has no fear of you!--one whom you have heard of to your cost, and will still hear of,--Gys Grandit!”
Gherardi glanced him up and down, and then turned from him in disgust as from something infected by a loathly disease.
”Prince Sovrani!” he said. ”I cannot condescend to converse with a street ranter, such as this misguided person, who has most regrettably obtained admission to your house and society! I came to see your brother-in-law Cardinal Bonpre,--who has left Rome, you tell me--therefore my business must be discussed with you alone. I must ask you for a private audience.”
Sovrani looked at him steadily.
”And I must refuse it, Monsignor! If in private audience you wish to repeat the amazing falsehood you have just uttered respecting my daughter's work--I am afraid I should hardly keep my hands off you!
Believe me you are safest in company!”
Monsignor Gherardi paused a moment,--then turned towards Sylvie.
”Contessa,” he said very deliberately. ”You can perhaps arrange this matter better than I can. Florian Varillo is dead--as I have told you; and for stating what I believe to be the truth regarding him I have been subjected to insult in your presence. I have known you for many years and I knew your father before you,--I have no wish to either distress or offend you,--do you understand? I am in your hands!”
Sylvie looked him full in the face. ”My husband will answer you, Monsignor,” she said. ”I am in his hands!” Gherardi turned as crimson as he had before been pale. ”Your husband!” He strode forward with a threatening movement--then stopped short, as he confronted Aubrey Leigh. ”Your husband! So! You are married then!”--and he laughed fiercely--”Married by the law, and excommunicated by the Church! A pleasant position for the last of the Hermensteins! Contessa, by your own act you have ruined the fortunes of your friends! I would have held my peace at your will,--but now all Rome shall know the truth!” ”The truth according to the convenience of papal Rome?” queried Aubrey Leigh--”The truth, as expounded to the Comtesse Hermenstein in your interview with her yesterday?”
Gherardi looked him over with superb indifference.
”My interview with the Comtesse Hermenstein was a private one”--he said,--”And if a spy was present, he must prove himself a spy. And we of the Church do not accept a spy's testimony!”
White with indignation Aubrey sprang forward,--but Cyrillon Vergniaud restrained him. ”Patience!” he said in a low tone--”Let him have his way for the moment--it will then be my turn!”