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If it be possible I shall try to sleep now till morning." "One of us will come to you at daybreak," said the lay-brother. "You are still very weak you will need assistance to dress. Your clothes are here at the foot of the bed. I hope you will sleep well." "Thank you!" said Varillo, conveying an almost tearful look of gratitude into his eyes "You are very good to me! God bless you!"
"I obey no one," he said. "I am mad Ambrosio! I walk about in my grave, and speak, and sing, while others remain silent. I would tell you if I knew of anyone greater than God, but I do not!" Varillo uttered an impatient groan. It was no good asking this creature anything, his answers were all wide of the mark.
The afternoon had now closed into night, and many stars were glistening bravely in the purple depths of the clear sky, the air was mild and balmy, and as he crossed the road to turn down the little side street leading to the Tiber, where Florian Varillo had stood but a few hours previously, a flower-girl met him with a large basket of white hyacinths and held them up to his eyes.
Her character was never spoilt by the social life she was compelled to lead. My brother-in-law, Prince Sovrani, kept open house, and all the gay world of Rome was accustomed to flock thither; but now since he has lost his wife, things have changed very much, sadness has taken the place of mirth, and Angela is very solitary." "Is she not affianced to the celebrated Florian Varillo?"
Varillo stared at him in unwilling fascination. He seemed carried beyond himself, it was as though some other force spoke through him, and though he scarcely raised his voice, its tone was so clear, musical, and penetrative that it seemed to give light and warmth to the cold dullness of the cell.
He found no actual fault with Florian Varillo, he was just a man as men go, with nothing very pronounced about him, except a genius for fine mosaic-like painting. He was not a great creator, but he was a delicate and careful artist, a man against whom nothing particular could be said, except perhaps that his manner was often artificial, and that his conduct was not always sincere.
That she my daughter the sweetest, purest, most innocent and loving of women as well as the greatest and most gifted has been mortally stabbed in her own studio this very day by some cowardly fiend unknown! Unknown did I say? Not so known! This sheath belongs to Florian Varillo. Where is he? Tell me at once if only to save YOURSELF trouble!"
Angela started. "I?" she exclaimed. "Yes you why not?" And the Abbe treated her to one of his particularly paternal smiles. "You are betrothed to Florian Varillo, but no man ever had or ever could have all the virtues with which you endow this excellent Florian. Now, I am not a believer in the gods, but of course it is delightful to me to meet those who are."
"Only God who is never weary!" he said, nodding his head slowly, "but we you and I we are soon tired!" Varillo looked at him dubiously; and a moment's thought decided him to assume a certain amount of meekness and docility with this evident brother of some religious order, so that he might obtain both sympathy and confidence from him, and from all whom he might be bound to serve.
"You must not depend upon me, Signor," she said with sudden coldness, "To be perfectly frank with you I am not sure that I like you. You are very charming and very clever but I doubt your sincerity." "Ah, che sono infelice!" murmured varillo softly, "you are right, bellissima madama!
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