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To Odo, happily, Count Benedetto's surroundings spoke more forcibly than his theories. Every object in the calm severe rooms appealed to the boy with the pure eloquence of form. Casts of the Vatican busts stood against the walls and a niche at one end of the library contained a marble copy of the Apollo Belvedere.
He shook the Corsican like a madman, and continually repeated the words: "Scoundrel! Murderer! Monster! It is your mother!" Madame Danglars lay groaning on the floor, the knife was buried up to the hilt in her breast, and yet she did not utter a cry as she recognized her murderer. She restrained herself with superhuman power, fearing to give the alarm to Benedetto's pursuers.
Jeanne had shown her several photographs of him, telling her at the same time that no one of them was entirely satisfactory. In Piero Maironi's winning face Noemi had noticed a shade of sadness; Benedetto's face shone with extraordinary vivacity. Two days before he had had his hair and beard shaved, because he had heard a woman murmur: "He is as beautiful as Jesus Himself!"
The throne has a very shallow step. The figure of S. George is a repetition of that by Benedetto's father in S. Francesco. Outside the walls, on the road to Porto Rose, are the ruins of the monastery of S. Bernardino, founded in 1450 by S. Giovanni da Capistrano, to whom the ruined convent on the island opposite Rovigno is also due.
"Die then!" cried Esperance. And with a rapid movement of his sword he disarmed his adversary; his blade was about to enter Benedetto's breast when the report of a pistol was heard, and Esperance, shot through the heart, fell by Jane's side. She threw herself on his body with cries of despair. Benedetto, with an infernal smile, turned away with a pistol in his hand.
Half the day, or all the day, and every day whenever he could? Where think you was he? Well, in the attic of Luca, before a bowl and a dish almost as big as himself. The attic was a breezy, naked place, underneath the arches supporting the roof of Maestro Benedetto's dwelling.
But the sick man did not hear; he put his arm round Benedetto's neck, drawing him to him, and continued his sorrowful confession, Benedetto repeating over and over again "My God, my God!" and making a mighty effort not to hear, but lacking the courage to tear himself away from the dying man's embrace.
Benedetto entered, and offered him the Abbot's letter. "I must leave the monastery," he said, very calmly. "At once, and for ever." Don Clemente did not answer, but opened the letter. When he had read it he observed, smiling, that Benedetto's departure for Jenne had been decided upon the night before.
As a boy he had loved flowers, but, after entering the seminary, he had thought no more about them thought no more about them for forty years. The night before Benedetto's visit he had dreamed of the big rose garden in which his childhood had been spent.
Presently the herder left, and Jeanne, entering the kitchen-garden, sat down tinder an olive tree, reflecting that Noemi could easily learn from the door-keeper where to find her. The old gardener, whose curiosity was aroused, asked, with many apologies, if she was a relative of Benedetto's, "For it is known that he is a gentleman, a rich man!" said he. Jeanne did not answer his question.
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