The accidental similarity of Montanelli's question to the password came like a chance straw, that the Gadfly, in his desperation, caught at, answering automatically. He had begun to tremble under the soft pressure of the hand that seemed to burn upon his shoulder.
The Cardinal bent down closer to him.
“Perhaps you would care to speak to me alone? If I can be any help to you——”
For the first time the Gadfly looked straight and steadily into Montanelli's eyes; he was already recovering his self-command.
“It would be no use,” he said; “the thing is hopeless.”
A police official stepped forward out of the crowd.
“Forgive my intruding, Your Eminence. I think the old man is not quite sound in his mind. He is perfectly harmless, and his papers are in order, so we don't interfere with him. He has been in penal servitude for a great crime, and is now doing penance.”
“A great crime,” the Gadfly repeated, shaking his head slowly.
“Thank you, captain; stand aside a little, please. My friend, nothing is hopeless if a man has sincerely repented. Will you not come to me this evening?”
“Would Your Eminence receive a man who is guilty of the death of his own son?”