“Come, come, my son! You mustn’t let yourself go like that. Well, yes! you have sinned, but, hang it all, you are still needed. (You’ve dirtied yourself; here, take this napkin; rub it off.) But of course I understand your anguish, and since you appeal to us, we will give you the means of redeeming yourself. (You’re not doing it properly. Let me help you.)”
“Oh, don’t trouble! Thank you! Thank you!” said Fleurissoire as Bardolotti, scrubbing the while, went on:
“At the same time, I understand your scruples; out of respect to them, I will begin by setting you a little task; there’s nothing conspicuous about it, but it will give you the opportunity of atoning and be a test of your devotion.”
“I ask nothing more.”
“Dear Father Cave, have you that little cheque about you?”
Protos pulled a paper out of the inner pocket of his shirt.
“Surrounded on all sides by enemies as we are,” went on the Cardinal, “we sometimes find it difficult to cash the offerings which a few generous souls send us in response to our secret solicitations. Watched at the same time by the freemasons and the Jesuits, by the police and by the swindlers, it would not be suitable for us to be seen presenting cheques or money orders at the banks and post offices, where our person might be recognised. The sharpers Father Cave was telling you about just now have thrown such discredit on our collections!” (Protos, in the meantime, was thrumming impatiently on the table.) “In short, here is a modest little cheque for six thousand francs which I beg you, my son, to cash in our stead; it is drawn on the Credito Commerciale of Rome by the Duchess of Ponte Cavallo; though it was addressed to the archbishop, the name of the payee has purposely been left a blank, so that it may be cashed by the bearer. Do not scruple to sign it with your own name, which will arouse no suspicions. Take care not to let yourself be robbed of it or of.... What is the matter, my dear Father Cave? You seem agitated.”
“Go on! Go on!”
“...or of the money which you will bring back to me ... let me see ... you return to Rome to-night; you can take the six o’clock express to-morrow evening; you will be at Naples again at ten and you will find me waiting for you at the station. After that we will think of employing you on some worthier errand.... No, no, my son, do not kiss my hand. Can you not see there is no ring on it?”
Amédée had half prostrated himself at his feet. The Cardinal touched his forehead, and Protos, taking him by the arm, shook him gently: