So saying, he arose, and Renzo followed him. While listening to him, he had been confirmed in his resolution not to acquaint the father with Lucy’s vow. “If he learns that,” thought he, “he will certainly raise new difficulties. Either I shall find her, and we can then disclose, or——and then——what use would it be?”
After having conducted him to the opening of the cabin, towards the north, “From yonder little temple,” said he, “rising above the miserable tents, Father Felix is about to lead in procession the small remnant who are convalescent, to another station, to finish their quarantine. Avoid notice, but watch them as they pass. If she is not of the number, this side,” added he, pointing to the edifice before them, “this side of the building and a part of the field before it are assigned to the women. You will perceive a railing which divides that quarter from this, but so broken, in many places, that you can easily pass through. Once there, if you do nothing to offend, probably no one will speak to you. If, however, there is any difficulty, say that Father Christopher knows you, and will answer for you. Seek her, then, seek her with confidence—and with resignation; for remember, it is an unusual expectation, a person alive within the walls of the lazaretto! Go, then, and be prepared for whatever result——”
“Yes, I understand!” said Renzo, a dark cloud overshadowing his countenance; “I understand, I will seek in every place, from one end of the lazaretto to the other——And if I do not find her!”
“If you do not find her?” repeated the father, in a serious and admonitory tone.
But Renzo, giving vent to the wrath which had been for some time pent up in his bosom, pursued, “If I do not find her, I will find another person. Either at Milan, or in his abominable palace, or at the end of the world, or in the house of the devil, I will find the villain who separated us; but for whom Lucy would have been mine twenty months ago; and if we had been destined to die, at least we should have died together. If he still lives, I will find him——”
“Renzo!” said the friar, seizing him by the arm, and looking at him severely.
“And if I find him,” continued Renzo, entirely blinded by rage, “if the pestilence has not already done justice—the time is past when a poltroon, surrounded by bravoes, can reduce men to despair, and laugh at them! the time is come when men meet face to face, and I will do myself justice.”
“Unhappy youth!” cried Father Christopher, with a voice which had suddenly become strong and sonorous, his head raised, and eyes darting forth more than their wonted fire; “unhappy youth! look around you! Behold who punishes and who judges; who punishes and pardons! But you, feeble worm, you would do yourself justice! Do you know what justice is? Unhappy youth! begone! I hoped——yes, I hoped that before I died, God would afford me the consolation to learn that my poor Lucy still lived; to see her, perhaps, and to hear her promise that she would send a prayer to yonder grave where I shall rest. Begone, you have taken away my hope. God has not left her on the earth for thee, and you certainly have not the audacity to believe yourself worthy that God should think of consoling you. Go, I have no time to listen to you farther.” And he dropped the arm of Renzo, which he had grasped, and moved towards a cabin.
“Oh, my father!” said Renzo, following him with a supplicating look, “will you send me away thus?”
“How!” resumed the capuchin, but in a gentler tone, “would you dare ask me to steal the time from these poor afflicted ones, who are expecting me to speak to them of the pardon of God, in order to listen to thy accents of rage—thy projects of vengeance? I listened to you, when you asked consolation and advice, but now that you have revenge in your heart, what do you want with me? Begone, I have listened to the forgiveness of the injured, and the repentance of the aggressor; I have wept with both; but what have I to do with thee?”