"Sleep," he repeated. "Sleep with a cold heart and quiet mind! Think that it is only a woman's name—a woman's work—a woman's honour, that stand in your way,—and congratulate yourself with the knowledge that the Church and her Divine authority will help you to remove all three! Farewell!"
He turned, and unlocked the door of the cell. As he threw it open, he was confronted by the monk Ambrosio, who was outside on the very threshold.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded suspiciously. "I had a permit from the Superior to speak to your charge alone."
"And were you not alone?" returned Ambrosio smiling. "I was not with you! I was here as sentinel, to prevent anyone disturbing you. Poor Ambrosio—mad Ambrosio! He is no good at all except to guard the dead!"
Gherardi looked at him scrutinizingly, and noted the lack-lustre eyes, the helpless childish expression, of the half-young, half-old face confronting his own.
"Guard the dead as much as you please," he said harshly. "But take heed how you spy on the living! Be careful of the sick man lying yonder—we want him back with us in Rome to-morrow."
Ambrosio nodded.
"Back in Rome—good—good!" he said. "Then he is living after all! I thought he was dead in his sins as I am,—but you tell me he lives, and will go back to Rome!—Oh yes—I will take care of him—good care!—do not fear! I know how to guard him so that he shall not escape you!"
Gherardi looked at him again sharply, but he was playing with his long rosary and smiling foolishly, and there seemed no use in wasting further speech upon him. So, muffling himself in his cloak, he strode away, and Ambrosio entered the cell.
"You shall have meat and wine presently," he said, approaching the bed where Florian lay. "The devil has given orders that you shall be well fed!"