"I will not do it," he said, rising up. "Keep your money, Benedetto; it would bring me misfortune."
Benedetto uttered a cry of rage, and, grasping the pen, he seated himself at the table and wrote a few words.
"So," he said, with a satanic gleam in his eyes as he held the paper under Anselmo's nose, "either you do what I say or else these lines which I have just written will be sent to the papers to-morrow."
Anselmo read, and the blood rushed to his head. He felt his brain whirl, and, beating his face with his hands, he groaned aloud. What had Benedetto written? Only a few words: "The lady who is known as Jane Zild is—"
"You will not send these lines off," cried Anselmo, springing up suddenly and clutching Benedetto by the throat. The latter, however, was too strong for him; in a minute he had thrown the ex-priest upon the bed.
"No nonsense," he sternly said, "either you write or I will send the notice to the papers to-morrow."
The ex-priest took the pen and with a trembling hand wrote what Benedetto had asked of him.
"Here," he said, in a choking voice, "swear to me—but no—you do not believe in anything—I—"
"My dear friend," interrupted Benedetto, "do not take the thing so seriously. I have no intention of disturbing your peace."
Anselmo sank upon a chair, and his eyes filled with hot tears.