"Do not ask why!" said Gherardi. "For a true answer would only anger you. Suffice it for you to know that whatever is in the way of Rome must be removed,—SHALL be removed at all costs! Cardinal Bonpre, as I said before, is in the way—and unless he can account fully and frankly for his strange companionship with a mere child-wanderer picked out of the streets, he will lose his diocese. If he persists in denying all knowledge of the boy's origin he will lose his Cardinal's hat. There is nothing more to be said! But—there is one remedy for all this mischief—and it rests with YOU!"
"With me?" Sylvie trembled,—her heart beat violently. She looked as though she were about to swoon, and Gherardi put out his arm to support her. She pushed him away indignantly.
"Do not touch me!" she said, her sweet voice shaken with something like the weakness of tears. "You tempt me to kill you,—to kill you and rid the world of a human fiend!"
His eyes flashed, and narrowed at the corners in the strange snake-like way habitual to them.
"How beautiful you are!" he said indulgently, "There are some people in the world who do not admire slight little creatures like you, all fire and spirit enclosed in sweetness—and in their ignorance they escape much danger! For when a man stoops to pick up a small flower half hidden in the long grass, he does not expect it to half-madden him with its sweetness—or half-murder him by its sting! That is why you are irresistible to me, and to many. Yes—no doubt you would like to kill me, bella Contessa!—and many a man would like to be killed by you! If I were not Domenico Gherardi, servant of Mother-Church, I would willingly submit to death at your hands. But being what I am, I must live! And living, I must work—to fulfil the commands of the Church. And so faithful am I in the work of our Lord's vineyard, that I care not how many grapes I press in the making of His wine! I tell you plainly that it rests with you to save your friend Angela Sovrani, and the saintly Cardinal likewise. Keep to the vows you have sworn to Holy Church,—vows sworn for you in infancy at baptism, and renewed by yourself at your confirmation and first Communion,—bring your husband to Us! And Florian Varillo's mouth shall be closed—the Sovrani's reputation shall shine like the sun at noonday; even the rank heresy of her picture shall be forgiven, and the Cardinal and his waif shall go free!"
Sylvie clasped her hands passionately together and raised them in an attitude of entreaty.
"Oh, why are you so cruel!" she cried. "Why do you demand from me what you know to be impossible?"
"It is not impossible," answered Gherardi, watching her closely as he spoke. "The Church is lenient,—she demands nothing in haste—nothing unreasonable! I do not even ask you to bring about Aubrey Leigh's conversion before your marriage. You are free to wed him in your own way and in his,—provided that one ceremonial of the marriage takes place according to our Catholic rites. But after you are thus wedded, you must promise to bring him to Us!—you must further promise that any children born of your union be baptized in the Catholic faith. With such a pledge from you, in writing, I will be satisfied;—and out of all the entanglements and confusion at present existing, your friends shall escape unharmed. I swear it!"
He raised his hand with a lofty gesture, as though he were asserting the truth and grandeur of some specially noble cause. Sylvie, letting her clasped hands drop asunder with a movement of despair, stood gazing at him in fascinated horror.
"The Church!" he went on, warming with his own inward fervour. "The Rock, on which our Lord builds the real fabric of the Universe!" And his tall form dilated with the utterance of his blasphemy. "The learning, the science, the theoretical discussions of men, shall pass as dust blown by the breath of a storm-wind—but the Church shall remain, the same, yesterday, to-day and forever! It shall crush down kings, governments and nations in its unmoving Majesty! The fluctuating wisdom of authors and reformers—the struggle of conflicting creeds—all these shall sink and die under the silent inflexibility of its authority! The whole world hurled against it shall not prevail, and were all its enemies to perish by the sword, by poison, by disease, by imprisonment, by stripes and torture, this would be but even justice! 'For many are called—but few are chosen.'"