"O father," cried Michel, "never call me by that name, and never say that I am not your son. Of course I am the happiest of men to be Princess Agatha's son, but it would be mingling gall with my happiness to try to accustom myself to the thought that I am not yours; and if you call me prince, I will never be one; I will insist on remaining a mechanic!"
"Very well, so be it!" said Pier-Angelo, embracing him; "let us continue to be father and son, as we were; I like that better, especially as I should cling to the old habits in spite of myself, even if you had been offended. Now, listen; I know beforehand what you will say to me in a moment. You will want to make me a rich man. I want to say to you beforehand that I beg you not to torment me on that subject. I prefer to remain as I am; I am very happy. Money brings anxiety; I have never been able to keep it. The princess will do what she thinks best for your sister; but I doubt whether the little one cares to rise above her condition, for if I am not mistaken, she is in love with our neighbor, Antonio Magnani, and has no idea of marrying anybody else. Magnani will not consent to accept anything from you, I know; he is a man like me, who loves his trade and would blush to be assisted when he earns all he needs. Don't be angry, my son; I accepted your sister's marriage-portion yesterday. That was not the gift of a prince, it was the wages of a workman, the sacrifice of a loving brother. I was proud of it, and your sister, when she knows about it, won't be ashamed; but I did not think it best to tell her yet. She would never have accepted it, she is so accustomed to look upon your artistic future as a sacred thing; and the child is obstinate, as you know.
"As for me, Michel, you know me too. If I were rich, I should be ashamed to work. People would think I did it from avarice, and to add a little to my savings. Nor could I work if I were not driven to it; I am a creature of habit, a routine workman; every day would be Sunday to me, and it would be as injurious for me to amuse myself all the week as it is advantageous for me to enjoy myself a little at table on the blessed day of rest. Ennui would lay hold of me, and melancholy after that. I should try to escape from it by intemperance perhaps, as most men do who don't know how to read and so can't keep up their spirits with beautiful written stories. But one must feed one's brain when the body is at rest, and they feed it with wine. That is worse than nothing, I know by experience. When I go to a wedding festival I enjoy myself the first day, I am bored the second, and sick the third. No, no! I must have my apron, my ladder, my glue-pot, and my ballads, or each hour seems as long as two. If you blush for me—But no, I won't finish, it is insulting to you; you will never blush for me. In that case, let me live as I please, and when I am too old and feeble to work, you shall take me in and take care of me; I agree to that, I give you my word on it. I can do nothing better for you, I am sure."
"Your wishes shall be sacred to me," Michel replied, "and I realize fully that it is impossible for me to pay my debt to you with money; it would be altogether too easy to be able to liquidate a debt running through one's whole lifetime in an instant and without the slightest trouble. Ah! if I could only double the duration of your life, and restore, at the expense of my blood, the strength you have expended in supporting and educating me!"
"Do not hope to pay me otherwise than by affection," replied the old decorator. "Youth cannot return, and I desire nothing that is contrary to the divine laws. If I have worked for you, I have done it with pleasure and without ever relying upon any other reward than that of seeing you make a wise use of your good fortune. The princess knows my way of thinking in that respect. If she should pay me for your education, she would deprive me of all my merit and pride; for I have a certain pride of my own, and I shall be proud to hear people say as they will before long: 'What a loyal Sicilian and good prince this Castro-Reale is! And yet it was that old fool of a Pier-Angelo who brought him up.' Come, give me your hand, and let us say no more about it. It would hurt me a little, I confess. It seems that the cardinal is dying. I want you to say a prayer with me for him, for he needs it sadly; he was a wicked man, and the woman who was taking you to the hospital, when my brother the monk and I snatched you from her arms, looked as if she would much rather throw you into the sea than into the orphan's crib. So let us pray with a good heart! Come, Michel, it won't be long."
And Pier-Angelo, uncovering, said in a loud voice and in a tone of the deepest sincerity: "O my God! forgive us our sins, and forgive Cardinal Hieronimo, as we ourselves forgive him. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen.—Michel, you didn't say amen, did you?"
"Amen, with all my heart," replied Michel, filled with respect for the artless piety with which Pier-Angelo forgave his persecutor.
For Monsignor Hieronimo had been very cruel to the poor mechanic. He had had only suspicions against him, and yet he had prosecuted him, thrown him into prison, ruined him, and finally forced him to exile himself, which last was the greatest sorrow that could have been inflicted upon honest Pier-Angelo.
As Mila was beginning to be anxious concerning Magnani, who did not return, Michel started out in search of him. All the bells in the city were tolling for the dying cardinal; prayers were being said in all the churches, and the poor people who were oppressed, held to ransom and punished by him at the slightest symptom of rebellion, knelt devoutly on the steps of the churches to ask God to absolve him. Doubtless one and all rejoiced inwardly at the first stroke of the bell, and would rejoice still more at the last. But the terrors of hell acted so powerfully on those vivid imaginations that mortal resentment vanished in face of the threat which those clanging bells seemed to hold suspended over every head.
Michel, as he did not hear the final knell announcing that death had seized his prey, and, as he felt sure that his mother would not leave the deathbed until that decisive moment had arrived, bent his steps toward the hill of Mal Passo. He wished to embrace his friend and his uncle once more before they saluted him as Prince of Castro-Reale. He dreaded especially the moment when Magnani would put on the armor of pride, and perhaps of coldness, in his unjust fear of contemptuous treatment by Michel. He was determined to stipulate in advance for the continuance of their friendship, to demand his solemn promise to that effect, and to inform him first of all of his new position after he had cemented that sacred brotherhood in Fra Angelo's presence.