Rallying his forces at last with
an effort he made a very good assumption of his most authoritative
manner.
"Prince, I must ask you to be good enough to hear me patiently," he
said. "Your mind has been grossly abused, and you are not aware of
the true position of affairs. You imagine with some few gossips in
Rome, that Florian Varillo, your daughter's betrothed husband, was
guilty of the murderous attack upon her life--you are mistaken!"
"Mistaken!" Prince Pietro laughed scornfully. "Prove my mistake!--
prove it!"
"I give you my word!" said Gherardi. "And I also swear to you that
the picture yonder, which, though offensive to the Church and
blasphemous in its teaching, is nevertheless a great masterpiece of
painting, is the work of the unfortunate dead man you so greatly
wrong!"
"Liar!" And Cyrillon Vergniaud sprang forward, interposing himself
between Sovrani and the priest. "Liar!"
Gherardi turned a livid white.
"Who is this ruffian?" he demanded, drawing his tall form up more
haughtily than before. "A servant of yours?"
"Ay, a servant of his, and of all honest men!" returned Cyrillon. "I
am one whom your Church has learned to fear, but who has no fear of
you!--one whom you have heard of to your cost, and will still hear
of,--Gys Grandit!"
Gherardi glanced him up and down, and then turned from him in
disgust as from something infected by a loathly disease.
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