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Updated: June 8, 2025
So it was with Angela Sovrani, iwhose compact little head were folded the splendid dreams of genius like sleeping fairies in a magic cave; and thoughtful and brilliant though she was, she could not, in her great tenderness for her affianced lover Florian Varillo, foresee that daily contact with his weaker and smaller nature, would kill those dreams as surely as a frost-wind kills the buds of the rose, and that gradually, very gradually, the coarser fibre of his intelligence mingling with hers, would make a paltry and rough weaving of the web of life, instead of a free and gracious pattern.
"I will tell you " he went on slowly "how I found my Angela lying dead, as I thought dead at the feet of Christ!" Meanwhile Florian Varillo had not gone to Naples. He had been turned back by a spectre evoked from his own conscience coward fear. He was on his way to the station when he suddenly discovered that he had lost the sheath of his dagger.
Varillo gave a nervous cry and covered his eyes. "Do not be afraid!" said Ambrosio, drawing his robe together again, "It is only flesh not spirit that is wounded! Flesh is our great snare, it persuades us to eat, to sleep, to laugh, to love the spirit commands none of these things.
"And you speak in an anger, which if what you suspect were true, would be natural enough, but which under present circumstances is greatly misplaced. The unfortunate Florian Varillo has been ill for many days at a Trappist monastery on the Campagna.
"To-night!" repeated Manuel, smiling and stretching out his hand with a gentle authoritative gesture. "To-night the Cardinal will leave Rome, and I will leave it too perchance for ever!" During these various changes in the lives of those with whom he had been more or less connected, Florian Varillo lay between life and death in the shelter of a Trappist monastery on the Campagna.
Ambrosio shook him off, his brown eyes were clear and bright, his whole expression stern and resolved. "I know it," he replied. "And we shall burn you and I together!" 'Oh, mad brute!" cried Varillo. "Tell me which way to go! where are the brethren?" "Outside!" he answered "Safe! away at the farther end of the garden, digging their own graves, as usual! Do you not hear the bell?
He waited, with a curious sense of impatience, and full beating of his heart, answering quite mechanically one or two greetings from Florian Varillo and other acquaintances who knew and recognised him- -and then felt, rather than saw, that he was looking into the deep sweet eyes of the woman who had flung him a rose from the balcony of the angels, and that her face, sweet as the rose itself, was smiling upon him.
"Signor Varillo needs neither praise nor defence," said Angela with a slight touch of hauteur, "All the world knows what he is." "Yes, precisely! That is just it, all the world knows what he is, " and the Abbe rubbed his forehead with an air of irritation, "And I am vexing you by my talk, I can see! Well, well!
The lay-brother made a gentle deprecatory gesture of his hands and retired, and Varillo was left to his own reflections. He lay still, thinking deeply, and marvelling at the unexpected rescue out of his difficulties so suddenly afforded him. "With Gherardi to support me, I can say anything!" he mused, his heart beating quickly and exultingly. "I can say anything and swear anything!
"Lacrymosa dies illa, Qua resurgat ex favilla Judicandus homo reus Huic ergo parce, Deus: Pie Jesu Domine Dona eis requiem!" But Varillo still shrieked "Help!" and his frenzied cries were at last answered. The great bell overhead ceased ringing suddenly, and its cessation created an effect of silence even amid the noise of the crackling fire and the continued grave music of the organ.
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