"Dead! Make me sure
of that, and I will praise God even for your lying tongue, if it
could for once speak such a welcome truth!"
Gherardi drew back amazed, instinctively recoiling from the flashing
eyes and threatening figure of the irate nobleman.
"Speak!" cried Sovrani again. "Tell me that the murderer of my
child's youth and joy is dead and gone to hell--and I will sing a
Laus Deo at St. Peter's! I will pay you a thousand pounds in masses
to keep his soul safe with the devil to whom it has gone!"
"Prince Sovrani, you are in ignorance of the facts," said Gherardi
coldly. "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. He had gone
out towards Frascati on a matter connected with some business before
starting for Naples, and as he was returning, he was suddenly met by
the news of the assassination of his betrothed wife--"
"And he knew nothing of it--" interposed Sovrani grimly. "Of course-
-he knew nothing!"
"He knew nothing--how should he know!" responded Gherardi calmly--
"The terrible shock threw him into a delirium and fever--he was
found in a dead swoon and taken into the monastery for shelter.
Pages:
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851