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"She was my mother, I tell you, and I punished her as she deserved, for I killed her!" "Horrible! Horrible!" And the wretched man who listened to these words wrung his hands. "Yes, and here is the proof." Benedetto drew from his pocketbook the paper on which Sanselme had written the lines he had dictated. "Read this," he said.
And the long, skeleton-like hand was laid on the parricide's wrist with such an icy pressure that Benedetto felt as if a steel ring were being riveted on his arm. "Come, my son," said the mad woman; "you will never leave me again, will you?" She drew him gently along as he walked. He did not attempt to disengage himself; he obeyed the summons as if it were from Death.
Meanwhile the advancing shadows had engulfed the white figure and the black one. His Holiness placed his hand on Benedetto's shoulder and asked him softly, almost hesitatingly: "Do you remember the end of your vision?" Benedetto, bowing his head, answered, also in a low tone: "Nescio diem, neque horam." "The words are not in the manuscript," His Holiness continued; "but do you remember?"
The old man doubtless knew that he represented to the youth only the rich uncle whose crotchets must be humoured for the sake of what his pocket may procure; and such kindly tolerance made Odo regret that Vittorio should not at least affect an interest in his uncle's pursuits. Odo's eagerness to see and learn filled Count Benedetto with a simple joy.
His Highness, Prince Benedetto d'Abruzzi believed as I do, and so expressed himself." He paused a moment; there was a hint of surprise in his manner. "I expected to be killed, of course. It seemed to me the only thing that could happen." "They must have known of the far-reaching consequences which would follow upon your escape, Mr. Grimm. Why didn't they kill you?" Mr.
"Do you speak of the moment when we jumped into the sea and escaped from the galleys?" he softly asked. "No; your memory seems to be weak." "I do not know what you mean." "Really? You seem to have drunk from the spring of Lethe," said Benedetto, contemptuously. "Anselmo, have you forgotten our meeting at Beaussuet?" "Scoundrel! miserable wretch!
"Impostor," repeated Villefort; "certainly, madame, you appear to extenuate some cases, and exaggerate others. Impostor, indeed! M. Andrea Cavalcanti, or rather M. Benedetto, is nothing more nor less than an assassin!" "Sir, I do not deny the justice of your correction, but the more severely you arm yourself against that unfortunate man, the more deeply will you strike our family.
How happy you make me. But calm yourself, I shall dwell in the society of pious women, who will protect me." "Yes, I forgot. You gave your fortune to buy this protection the price you paid was pretty steep." "Benedetto, you blaspheme. Your life is not too dear for me to purchase." "I wish I could earn your love," murmured Benedetto, apparently annihilated; "you gave up a million to rescue me.
High above them the glass of the Logge shone in the moonlight. Benedetto, recalling an audience the late Pontiff had granted him, was astonished at being conducted by this strange way.
Giovanni changed the subject by remarking that Signora Dessalle might not come in for some time, and that, therefore, di Leyni had better speak. Di Leyni spoke. He had been to see Benedetto. On reaching Via della Polveriera from San Pietro in Vincoli, he had recognised two policemen in plain clothes, who were walking up and down. He might have been mistaken, or this might have happened by chance.
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