“Signori,” he began, turning to the astonished guests at his side, “this man knows how to play the traitor and at the same time act the innocent. He and I understand each other excellently. We shall have no denial from him on that point, I think,” he added, throwing a glance at his wife. “There are one or two more here who understand.”
“I thought he knew something,” whispered Signora Nobody-in-particular to her companion. “Delicious! He’s going to tell!”
A similar thought must have impelled Mario. He stepped forward a little, and, with the sole purpose of saving an insensate husband from sullying his wife’s name, he spoke to Tarsis, his tone severe, but not without a shade of entreaty.
“Guard your tongue,” he said. “If you have a quarrel with me, this is not the time or place.”
Tarsis faced him, with blazing eyes, his last vestige of restraint thrown off. “I will be judge of the time and place to speak!” he exclaimed. “You know too well what I meant when I said this is your work. Perhaps there are some here who do not catch my meaning. You and your crew of demagogues are to blame for the King’s death. I charge you with it publicly. You poison the minds of ignorant people, set the workers against their betters, teach them to hate authority, incite them to riot and bloodshed. I say that you have plotted against the King’s life, and are just as much the taker of it as the miscreant who fired the shot.”
It was so different from what he had expected and dreaded that Mario felt more of relief than resentment. That Tarsis had omitted Hera’s name seemed a full requital for the wrong done him in that reckless accusation. Nevertheless, he would have replied to it but for the Cardinal, who raised his hand and invoked peace in the name of heaven.
“It is hard to hold one’s peace,” Tarsis protested sullenly, “when such a deed is done, and the instigator of it stands before one’s eyes under his own roof.”
Mario was about to leave the palace, but the Cardinal touched his arm. “Stay a while,” he said, “and I will go with you.” For a moment he held Tarsis in the regard of his kindly though keen eyes, as if studying him. “Much of the injustice that man does his neighbour is by reason of his seeing him through the glass but darkly,” he affirmed, in the manner of one who would dispel a misunderstanding. “It is not the first time that the Honourable Forza has been called a demagogue, but always it has been a calumny. I, who am his friend and know him, can do no less than say this. To be a demagogue, I take it, is to be at war with truth—to strive for popular favour by inflaming the selfish passions of men. I am sure he has not done that. He has wielded a lance, and an able one, but always it has been the lance of truth and valour. He has striven to mellow the world’s hard hopes with even-handed justice. Wrong is not a mender of wrong. The sorrow we all feel in this hour and revengeful passions go ill together. The occasion does not call for denunciation or abuse of men or doctrines. Let us try to find the use there may be in this as in all adversity. Anarchy has no more determined foe than Signor Forza. His war is upon offenders against human justice, and that is the same as war upon anarchy. No one loves his country more than he, no one loved the King more. I know that his public services are in harmony with the things that we all should hold best—the Church, which is of Christ, and Italy, which is our country.”
In the hush that reigned Mario said, “I thank your Eminence,” and Hera, silently, breathed a thanksgiving.
Tarsis had not spoken his last word. His lips were curving with the sarcastic smile that he could summon. “I perceive,” he remarked, “that your Eminence has become an apostate to the New Democracy.”