"O Providence!" he cried, "Thou hast permitted old Pier-Angelo to witness the extinction of his persecutors, and to return to his native city! Embrace me, Michel! this event is of no less importance to you than to me. Whatever happens, remember that Pier-Angelo Lavoratori has been a good father to you!"
"What do you mean, father? Are you still in any danger? If you must return to Sicily, I will go with you."
"We will talk of that later, Michel. Meanwhile, silence!—Forget everything, even the words that have escaped me."
Two days later, Pier-Angelo folded his tents and started for Catania with his daughter. He would not consent to take Michel, despite the latter's earnest entreaties.
"No," he said, "I am not certain that I shall be able to settle at Catania, for I had the papers read to me again this morning, and they don't say that Cardinal Hieronymo is dead. They don't mention him at all. A personage so favored by the government, and so rich, could not recover or die without a great sensation. So I conclude that he is still alive, but that he is a little better. His temporary substitute is a most excellent nobleman, a true patriot, and a friend of the people. I have nothing to fear from the police so long as we have him to deal with. But if by a miracle this Prince Hieronymo should come back to life and health, I should have to return to Rome at once; and in that case what good would it have done to make you take this journey, which would interrupt your studies?"
"But," said Michel, "why not wait until this prince's fate is decided, before you start yourself? I have no idea what you have to fear from him and from your presence in Catania, father; for you have never chosen to explain yourself clearly in that respect; but it alarms me to have you start, all alone but for this child, for a land where you are not certain of being well received. I know that the police officials of absolute governments are suspicious and troublesome; and if you had nothing worse to fear than a temporary imprisonment, even then what would become of our little Mila, all alone in a city where you no longer have any acquaintances? Let me go with you, in heaven's name! I will be Mila's protector and defender, and when I see that you are comfortably settled and in no danger, then I will return to Rome and resume my studies, if you care to remain in Sicily."
"Yes, Michel, I know, I understand," replied Pier-Angelo. "You have no wish to remain in Sicily, and your youthful ambition would be ill-content with a long stay in an island which you believe to be destitute of all resources and monuments of art. You are mistaken; we have such noble monuments! Palermo fairly swarms with them. Ætna is the grandest spectacle that nature can offer to a painter, and we have painters, too. Morales filled our fatherland with masterpieces worthy to be compared with those of Rome and Florence!"
"Excuse me, father," said Michel, smiling, "Morales is not to be compared with Raphael, Michelangelo, or any of the masters of the Florentine school."
"What do you know about it? That is just like children. You have never seen his great works, his best pieces; you will see them in Sicily. And such a climate! such skies! such fruit! A veritable land of promise!"
"Very well, father, permit me to go there with you," said Michel. "That is precisely what I ask."