'To what?' muttered the other hoarsely.
'Hush, dear!' said the boy, fondling him, and whimpering—not for himself. 'I have been warned—some one hath warned me—that it were well if we fed not our hearts with delusive hopes of release herefrom.'
'Why not?' said the Fool. 'It is the only food we are like to have.'
'Ah!'
He clung suddenly to his friend in a convulsion of emotion.
'You have guessed? It is true. Capello. We might have known, being here; but—O Cicca! are you sorry? We have an angel with us—he spoke to me just now.'
'Christ?'
'Yes, Christ, dearest.'
The Fool, smitten to intolerable anguish, put him away, and, scrambling to his feet, went up and down, raving and sobbing:—
'The vengeance of God on this wicked race! May it fester in madness, living; and, dead, go down to torment so unspeakable, that——'