CHAPTER VII.
Cornelius Palma, after the Prince retired, was apparently for some space busied with his reflections. He then talked in a whispering manner with the secretary, and moved towards an extremity of the chamber. But the moment Silo perceived this, he plucked my sleeve, and drew me to the other end of our closet, where, as I have told you, the light had admittance in a similar manner. Here another of the imperial apartments was visible in equal distinctness; and in it appeared Athanasia and her friend, as waiting now at length in entire composure the moment when they should be summoned.
Palma entering, both rose, and he, returning their salutation, remained before them for a moment in silence, his eyes fixed on Athanasia. It was to Aurelius, nevertheless, that his first words were addressed:—“From what has been reported of your behaviour at the execution of Cotilius, I fear there is nothing to be gained by speaking to you, concerning the only means by which your own safety can yet be secured. You are obstinate, old man, in your superstition?”—“Noble Palma,” said the priest, “contempt is the only thing I fear from men. But I thank my [pg 329]God, that it is the only thing I have it in my power to avoid.”—“I will not argue with you,” answered Palma, pointing to a door near him:—“It was not with any purpose of bending you, that I undertook this painful office. I desire to speak in freedom with one whose case is, I trust, less hopeless.”
The old man, pointing to his fetters, said meekly, “Let them guard me whither it pleases you.”
“Sir,” said Athanasia, “I pray you let Aurelius remain; imagine not that I shall either hear or answer less freely because of my friend’s presence.”
“He will, at least, retire to the other end of the chamber,” said Palma—“and interfere no farther.”
The priest drew back;—Athanasia, on her part, seeing that Palma hesitated, and seemed at a loss how to begin, said to him in a tone of modest composure:—“Noble sir, if your purpose be indeed as kind as I think it is, I pray you spare me at least the pain that is needless, and spare yourself what I am sure is painful to you. You see my youth and my sex, and it is not unnatural for you to think as you do; but know that my faith is fixed, and that I hope I shall not be deserted, when I strive even at the last moment to do it no dishonour.”
“This gray beard,” said Palma, “has made you, then, thoroughly a Christian?”
“I would it were so,” she answered—“I would to God it were so!”
“Lady,” resumed Palma, “we have knowledge both of your father’s high character, and of your own amiable dispositions. If you persist in this manner, you will give grief to Cæsar; and as for your family, [pg 330]have you yet seriously considered into what misery they must be plunged?”