The strange sounds of his sobbing and sighing had in the meantime awakened Carola. There he was, kneeling now, at the foot of the bed, hammering on his weakly chest with little blows of his fist; and Carola, lost in amazement, heard him repeat, as his teeth chattered and his sobs shook him:
“Save us! Save us! The Church is crumbling!”
At last, unable to contain herself any longer:
“You poor old dear, what’s wrong with you? Have you gone crazy?”
He turned towards her:
“Please, Madame Carola, leave me. I must—I absolutely must be alone. I’ll see you to-morrow morning.”
Then, as after all it was only himself that he blamed, he kissed her gently on the shoulder:
“Ah! you don’t know what a dreadful thing we’ve done. No, no! You don’t know. You can never know.”
III
The swindling concern that went under the pompous name of Crusade for the Deliverance of the Pope, extended its shady ramifications through more than one of the French departments; Protos, the false monk of Virmontal, was not its only agent, nor the Comtesse de Saint-Prix its only victim. All its victims, however, were not equally accommodating, even if all the agents proved equally dexterous. Even Protos, Lafcadio’s old school-mate, was obliged, after this exploit of his, to keep the sharpest possible look-out; he lived in continual apprehension that the clergy (the real clergy) would get wind of the affair, and expended as much ingenuity in covering his rear as in pushing his attack; but his versatility was great, and, moreover, he was admirably seconded; from one end to the other of the band (which went by the name of the Millipede) there reigned extraordinary harmony and discipline.