"You are right! He is a great man!—one of the greatest in Rome, or for that matter in the world! And he means to be yet greater!" And with that he turned on his heel and left the cell abruptly.
Varillo, languidly sipping the wine that had been brought to him with his food, looked after him with a pitying smile.
"Poor soul!" he said gently.
"He was famous once," said the lay-brother, lowering his voice as he spoke. "One of the most famous sculptors in Europe. But something went wrong with his life, and he came here. It is difficult to make him understand orders, or obey them, but the Superior allows him to remain on account of his great skill in music. On that point at least he is sane."
"Indeed!" said Varillo indifferently. He was beginning to weary of the conversation, and wished to be alone. "It is well for him that he is useful to you in some regard. And now, my friend, will you leave me to rest awhile? If it be possible I shall try to sleep now till morning."
"One of us will come to you at daybreak," said the lay-brother. "You are still very weak—you will need assistance to dress. Your clothes are here at the foot of the bed. I hope you will sleep well."
"Thank you!" said Varillo, conveying an almost tearful look of gratitude into his eyes—"You are very good to me! God bless you!"
The lay-brother made a gentle deprecatory gesture of his hands and retired, and Varillo was left to his own reflections. He lay still, thinking deeply, and marvelling at the unexpected rescue out of his difficulties so suddenly afforded him.
"With Gherardi to support me, I can say anything!" he mused, his heart beating quickly and exultingly. "I can say anything and swear anything! And even if the sheath of my dagger has been found, it will be no proof, for I can say it is not mine. Any lie I choose to tell will have Gherardi's word to warrant it!—so I am safe—unless Angela speaks!"
He considered this possibility for a moment, then smiled.