She measured him with a look of unutterable contempt.
"Because the prying eyes of a perjured wretch, who screened his vileness behind the cassock of the monk, dared to offend the majesty of Death and to disturb the repose of the departed, you come to me like some importunate slave dissatisfied with his hire? You dare to constitute yourself my guardian, to call Theodora a thing of your creation? Take care! You speak to a descendant of Marozia. I have had enough of whimpering monks. For the service demanded of you in a certain hour you have been paid. So clear the way, and trouble me no more!"
The monk did not stir.
"The fair Theodora has not inherited Ginevra's memory," he said with a sneer. "The gold was to purchase the repose of Ginevra's soul."
Theodora shuddered, as if oppressed with the memories of the past.
"Candles and masses," she said, as one soliloquizing. "How signally they failed!"
The monk shrugged his shoulders.
"If a thousand Aves, and tapers six foot long fail in their purpose,—what undiscovered penance could perform the miracle?"
There was something in the gleam of the monk's eye which brought Theodora to herself.
"What do you want of me?" she questioned curtly.