“That often happens here,” said Baptistin phlegmatically.
Fortunately the prudent Arnica had ventured only on the most discreet of allusions. The letter, besides, was very short; she simply recommended Amédée, on the advice of Father Mure, to go to Naples and see Cardinal San-Felice S.B. “before attempting to do anything.” Her expressions were as vague as could well be desired and in consequence as little compromising.
IV
When he found himself in front of the Castle of St. Angelo, Fleurissoire was filled with bitter disappointment. The huge mass of building rose from the middle of an inner court-yard, access to which was forbidden to the public, and into which only such visitors as were provided with cards were allowed to enter. It was even specified that they must be accompanied by one of the guardians.
These excessive precautions, to be sure, confirmed Amédée’s suspicions, but they also enabled him to estimate the extravagant difficulty of his task. Fleurissoire then, having at last got rid of Baptistin, was wandering up and down the quay, which was almost deserted at that hour of the evening, and alongside the outer wall which defends the approach to the castle. Backwards and forwards in front of the drawbridge, he passed and repassed, with gloomy and despondent thoughts; then he would retreat once more to the bank of the Tiber and endeavour from there to get a better view of the building over the top of the first enclosure.
He had not hitherto paid any particular attention to a priest (there are so many of them in Rome) who was sitting on a bench not far from there, and who, though apparently plunged in his breviary, had been observing him for some time past. The worthy ecclesiastic had long and abundant locks of silver, and the freshness of his youthful complexion—the sure sign of purity of life—contrasted curiously with that apanage of old age. From the face alone one would have recognised a priest, and from that peculiarly respectable something which distinguishes him—a French priest. As Fleurissoire was about to pass by the bench for the third time, the abbé suddenly rose, came towards him, and in a voice which had in it something of a sob:
“What!” he said, “I am not the only one! You too are seeking him!”
So saying, he hid his face in his hands and the sobs which he had been too long controlling burst forth. Then suddenly recovering himself:
“Imprudent! Imprudent that I am! Hide your tears! Stifle your sighs!” ... Then, seizing Amédée by the arm: “We must not stay here, Sir. We are observed. The emotion I am unable to master has been remarked already.”
Amédée by this time was following him in a state of stupefaction.