“It is useless then for me to confess,” observed Pascal, “for this wicked thought will rise.”
“Cannot you drive it from your mind?” asked the priest.
Pascal smiled.
“It is that thought,” said he, “that has kept me alive, father; without that one infernal thought, without that last hope of vengeance, do you think I would have allowed myself to be dragged forward as a disgraceful spectacle to the multitude? No! I would have strangled myself with the chain that binds me. At Messina, I had made up my mind to do so; and I was about carrying my intention into effect when an order came to convey me to Palermo—I thought she would wish to see me die.”
“Whom do you mean?” asked the priest.
“She,” said Bruno, with bitter emphasis.
“But if you die in this manner,” said the priest, “without repenting, heaven, will show you no mercy.”
“Father,” said Bruno, “she, also, shall die without repenting, for she shall die at the moment she least expects it; she, also, shall die without a priest, and without confession; she, also, shall find, like me, heaven without mercy, and we shall sink to perdition together.”
At this instant the gaoler entered.
“Father,” he said, “the chapelle ardente is prepared.”