Cyrillon interrupted him.

“Yes—­as the people go!  That is what you all say, you patient, brave souls!  See you, my friend, I do not want all this money—­“and he took up a note for five hundred francs—­“Take this and make the wife and little ones happy!”

“Monsieur!” stammered the astonished clerk—­“How can I dare—!”

“Dare!  Nay, there is no daring in freely taking what your brother freely gives you!  You must let me practise what I preach, my friend, otherwise I am only a fraud and unfit to live.  God keep you!”

The clerk still stood trembling, afraid to take up the note, and unable through emotion to speak a word, even of thanks.  Upon which, Cyrillon folded up the note and put it himself in the man’s pocket.

“There!—­go and make happiness with that bit of paper!” he said—­ “Who can tell through what dirty usurer’s hand it has been, carrying curses with it perchance on its way!  Use it now for the comfort of a woman and her little children, and perhaps it will bring blessing to a living man as well as to a departed soul!”

And he literally put the poor stupefied fellow outside his door, shutting it gently upon him.

That night he left for Rome.  And as the express tore its grinding way along over the iron rails towards the south, he repeated to himself over and over again as in a dream—­

“No—­Angela Sovrani is not dead!  She cannot be dead!  God is too good for that.  He will not let her die before she knows—­before she knows I love her!”

XXXIII.

The chain of circumstance had lengthened by several links round the radiant life of Sylvie Hermenstem since that bright winter morning when she had been startled out of her reverie, in the gardens of the Villa Borghese, by the unexpected appearance of Monsignor Gherardi.  The untimely deaths of the Marquis Fontenelle and the actor Miraudin in the duel over her name, had caused so much malicious and cruel gossip, that she had withdrawn herself almost entirely from Roman society, which had, with one venomous consent, declared that she was only marrying Aubrey Leigh to shield herself from her esclandre with the late Marquis.  And then the murderous attack on her friend Angela Sovrani, which occurred almost immediately after her engagement to Aubrey was announced, had occupied all her thoughts—­so that she had almost forgotten the promise she had made to grant a private interview to Gherardi whenever he should seek it.  And she was not a little vexed one morning when she was talking to her betrothed concerning the plans which were now in progress for their going to England as soon as possible, to receive a note reminding her of that promise, and requesting permission to call upon her that very afternoon.

“How very unfortunate and tiresome!” said Sylvie, with a charming pout and upward look at her lover, who promptly kissed the lips that made such a pretty curve of disdain—­“I suppose he wants to give me a serious lecture on the responsibilities of marriage!  Shall I receive him, Aubrey?  I remember when I met him last that he had something important to say about Cardinal Bonpre.”