The sweet voice broke—the fair head was turned away,—and Cardinal Felix, overcome by such emotion as he found it impossible to explain, suddenly sank on his knees, and stretched out his arms to the young slight creature who spoke with such a passion and intensity of yearning.
"Child!" he said, with tremulous appeal in his accents, "For God's sake'—you who express your thoughts with such eloquence and fervent pain!—tell me, WHO ARE YOU? My mind is caught and controlled by your words,—you are too young to think as you do, or to speak as you do,—yet some authority you seem to possess, which I submit to, not knowing why; I am very old, and maybe growing foolish in my age—many troubles are gathering about me in these latter days,—do not make them more than I can bear!"
His words were to himself incoherent, and yet it seemed as if Manuel understood them. Suffering himself to be clasped for a moment by the old man's trembling hands, he nevertheless gently persuaded and assisted him to rise, and when he was once more seated, stood quietly by his side, waiting till he should have recovered from his sudden agitation.
"Dear friend, you are weary and troubled in spirit," he said tenderly then, "And my words seem to you only terrible because they are true! If they grieve you, it is because the grief in your heart echoes mine! And if I do think and speak more seriously than I should, it is for the reason that I have been so much alone in the world,—left to myself, with my own thoughts of God, which are not thoughts such as many care for. I would not add to your sorrows,—I would rather lighten them if I could—but I feel and fear that I shall be a burden upon you before long!"
"Never!" exclaimed Bonpre fervently, "Never a burden on me, child!
Surely while I live you will not leave me?"
Manuel was silent for a little space. His eyes wandered from the Cardinal's venerable worn features to the upstanding silver crucifix that gleamed dully in the glow of the wood-embers.
"I will not leave you unless it is well for you that I should go," he answered at last, "And even then, you will always know where to find me."
The Cardinal looked at him earnestly, and with a searching interrogation,—but the boy's face though sweetly composed, had a certain gravity of expression which seemed to forbid further questioning. And a deep silence fell between them,—a silence which was only broken by the door opening to admit Prince Sovrani who, pausing on the threshold, said,
"Brother, if you will allow yourself to be disturbed, Angela would like to see you in her studio. There are several people there,—her fiance, Varillo among the number,—and I think the girl would be glad of your presence."
The Cardinal started as from a dream, and rose from his chair.