The canon delivered the whole of this speech in a voice that was perfectly level; at this point he paused for a moment; then, emphasising his words with a slight tap of his foot:
“This is the man,” he cried, “that Monaco has made jailer-in-chief to Leo XIII.”
“What, the Cardinal!” exclaimed the Countess. “Can a cardinal be a freemason?”
“Alas!” said the canon pensively, “the Church has suffered sad inroads from the Lodge. You can easily see, Madame la comtesse, that if the Church had defended herself better, none of this would have happened. The Lodge was enabled to seize the person of the Holy Father only through the connivance of a few highly placed accomplices.”
“But it’s appalling!”
“What more is there to tell you, Madame la comtesse? Jean-Salvador imagined he was the prisoner of the Church, when in reality he was the prisoner of the freemasons. He will not consent to work for the liberation of our Holy Father unless he is at the same time enabled to flee himself. And he can flee only to a very distant country, where there is no extradition. He demands two hundred thousand francs.”
Valentine de Saint-Prix had sunk back in her chair and let her arms drop beside her; at these words she flung her head back, uttered a feeble moan and lost consciousness. The canon darted forward.
“Courage, Madame la comtesse”—he patted her hands briskly—“it’s not so bad as all that, God save us!”—he put the smelling-salts to her nose. “A hundred and forty of the two hundred thousand have been subscribed already”—and as the Countess opened one eye: “The duchesse de Lectoure has not promised more than fifty; there remain sixty to be found.”
“You shall have them,” murmured the Countess, almost inaudibly.