Pier-Angelo turned pale.—"Who? who?" he exclaimed; "the cardinal?"
"Yes, the cardinal in person, the paralytic in his great gilt box. It must be the famous Prince Hieronymo, who was the terror of my childhood, and who seemed to me all the more terrible because I did not know the cause of my fear. Well, dear father, I assure you that even if he still has the will to do harm, he has not the power, for all varieties of infirmity seem to have conspired together to crush him. I will tell you of our interview; but tell me first of my sister, and let us go at once and surprise her."
"No, Michel, no, the most important thing is for you to tell me how you happened to see the cardinal so close. Let us go into this clump of trees; I am not at all easy in my mind. Tell me, tell me quickly! He spoke to you, you say? Is it certain that he spoke?"
"Let me reassure you, father, he cannot speak."
"Are you sure of it? You told me that he questioned you."
"I was questioned in his behalf, I suppose; but, as I observed everything with perfect coolness, and as that caricature of an abbé who acts as his interpreter is too thin to conceal the whole interior of the chair, I saw plainly that his eminence spoke with his eyes only. Moreover, his eminence is stone deaf, for when I told my age, which the abbé asked me for some unknown reason, I saw the abbé lean toward monsignore and hold up his ten fingers twice over, and then the thumb of his right hand."
"Dumb, helpless, and deaf to boot! I breathe again. But how old did you say you were? Twenty-one?"
"You told me to lie as soon as I set foot in Sicily."
"It is well, my child; Heaven aided and inspired you in that encounter."
"I think so, but I should be much more certain of it if you would tell me how the cardinal can be interested to know whether I am eighteen or twenty-one."