"Not in Rome, perhaps," returned Aubrey coolly. "But in England,—in America,—things are different. There are many honest men who dislike to contemplate even a distant vision of the talons of Rome hovering over us—we look upon such mischief as a sign of decay,—for only where the carcasses of nations lie, does the vulture hover! We are not dead yet! And now, Monsignor,—as your interview with the Countess is ended—an interview to which I have been a witness—may I suggest the removal of your presence? You have made a proposition—she has rejected it—the matter is ended!"
Civilly calm and cold he stood, holding Sylvie close to him with one embracing arm, and Gherardi, looking at the two together thus, impotently wished that the heavy sculptured and painted ceiling above them might fall and crush them into a pulp before him. No shame, no sense of compunction moved him,—if anything, he raised his head more haughtily than before.
"Aubrey Leigh," he said, "Socialist, reformer, revolutionist—whatever you choose to call yourself!—you have all the insolence of your race and class,—and it is beneath my dignity to argue with you. But you will rue the day you ever crossed my path! Not one thing have I threatened, that shall not be performed! This unhappy lady whose mind has been perverted from Holy Church by your heretical teachings, shall be excommunicated. Henceforth we look upon her as a child of sin, and we shall publicly declare her marriage with you illegal. The rest can be left with confidence, to—Society!"
And with a dark smile which made his face look like that of some malignant demon, he turned, and preserving his proud inflexibility of demeanour, without another look or gesture, left the apartment.
Then Aubrey, alone with his love, drew her closer, and lifted her fair face to his own, looking at it with passionate tenderness and admiration.
"You brave soul!" he said. "You true woman! You angel of the covenant of love! How shall I ever tell you how I worship you—how I revere you—for your truth and courage!"
She trembled under the ardour of his utterance, and her eyes filled with tears.
"I was not afraid!" she said. "I should have called Katrine,—only I knew that if I once did so, she also would be involved, and he would be unscrupulous enough to ruin my name with a few words in order to defend himself from all suspicion. But you, Aubrey?—how did it happen that you were here?"
"I was here from the first!" he replied triumphantly. "I followed on Gherardi's very heels. Your Arab boy admitted me—he was in my secret. He showed me into the anteroom just outside, where by leaving a corner of the door ajar I could see and hear everything. And I listened to your every word! I saw every bright flash of the strong soul in your brave eyes! And now those eyes question me, sweetheart,—almost reproachfully they seem to ask me why I did not interfere between you and Gherardi before? Ah, but you must forgive me for the delay! I wanted to drink all my cup of nectar to the dregs—I could not lose one drop of such sweetness! To see you, slight fragile blossom of a woman, matching your truth and courage against the treachery and malice of the most unscrupulous priestly tool ever employed by the Vatican, was a sight to make me strong for all my days!" He kissed her passionately. "My love! My wife! How can I ever thank you!"
She raised her sweet eyes wonderingly.