"There, there, Monsignor," said the monk. ". . . I didn't expect this. There's nothing to——"
"But . . . but——"
"It's a shock to you, I see. . . . It's very kind. . . . But I knew it all along. Surely you must have known——"
"I never dreamt of it. I never thought it conceivable. It's abominable; it's——"
"Monsignor, this isn't kind to me," rang out the young voice sternly; and the elder man recovered himself sharply. "Please talk to me quietly. Father Abbot tells me you will see the Cardinal."
"I'll do anything—anything in my power. Tell me what I can do."
He had recovered himself, as under a douche of water, at the sharpness of the monk's tone just now. He felt but one thing at this instant, that he would strain every force he had to hinder this crime. He remained motionless, conscious of that sensation of intense tightness of nerve and sinew in which an overpressed mind expresses itself.
The monk sat down, on the farther side of the table.
"That's better, Monsignor," he said, smiling. . . . "Well, there's really not much to do. Insanity seems the only possible plea."
He smiled again, brilliantly.