"Are you one of the pilgrims, father?"

The Gadfly, sitting on the steps of the episcopal palace, looked up from under his ragged white locks, and gave the pa.s.sword in a husky, trembling voice, with a strong foreign accent. Domenichino slipped the leather strap from his shoulder, and set down his basket of pious gewgaws on the step. The crowd of peasants and pilgrims sitting on the steps and lounging about the market-place was taking no notice of them, but for precaution's sake they kept up a desultory conversation, Domenichino speaking in the local dialect and the Gadfly in broken Italian, intermixed with Spanish words.

"His Eminence! His Eminence is coming out!" shouted the people by the door. "Stand aside! His Eminence is coming!"

They both stood up.

"Here, father," said Domenichino, putting into the Gadfly's hand a little image wrapped in paper; "take this, too, and pray for me when you get to Rome."

The Gadfly thrust it into his breast, and turned to look at the figure in the violet Lenten robe and scarlet cap that was standing on the upper step and blessing the people with outstretched arms.

Montanelli came slowly down the steps, the people crowding about him to kiss his hands. Many knelt down and put the hem of his ca.s.sock to their lips as he pa.s.sed.

"Peace be with you, my children!"

At the sound of the clear, silvery voice, the Gadfly bent his head, so that the white hair fell across his face; and Domenichino, seeing the quivering of the pilgrim's staff in his hand, said to himself with admiration: "What an actor!"

A woman standing near to them stooped down and lifted her child from the step. "Come, Cecco," she said. "His Eminence will bless you as the dear Lord blessed the children."

The Gadfly moved a step forward and stopped. Oh, it was hard! All these outsiders--these pilgrims and mountaineers--could go up and speak to him, and he would lay his hand on their children's hair. Perhaps he would say "Carino" to that peasant boy, as he used to say----

The Gadfly sank down again on the step, turning away that he might not see. If only he could shrink into some corner and stop his ears to shut out the sound! Indeed, it was more than any man should have to bear--to be so close, so close that he could have put out his arm and touched the dear hand.

"Will you not come under shelter, my friend?" the soft voice said. "I am afraid you are chilled."

The Gadfly's heart stood still. For a moment he was conscious of nothing but the sickening pressure of the blood that seemed as if it would tear his breast asunder; then it rushed back, tingling and burning through all his body, and he looked up. The grave, deep eyes above him grew suddenly tender with divine compa.s.sion at the sight of his face.

"Stand bark a little, friends," Montanelli said, turning to the crowd; "I want to speak to him."

The people fell slowly back, whispering to each other, and the Gadfly, sitting motionless, with teeth clenched and eyes on the ground, felt the gentle touch of Montanelli's hand upon his shoulder.

"You have had some great trouble. Can I do anything to help you?"

The Gadfly shook his head in silence.

"Are you a pilgrim?"

"I am a miserable sinner."

The accidental similarity of Montanelli's question to the pa.s.sword came like a chance straw, that the Gadfly, in his desperation, caught at, answering automatically. He had begun to tremble under the soft pressure of the hand that seemed to burn upon his shoulder.

The Cardinal bent down closer to him.

"Perhaps you would care to speak to me alone? If I can be any help to you----"

For the first time the Gadfly looked straight and steadily into Montanelli's eyes; he was already recovering his self-command.

"It would be no use," he said; "the thing is hopeless."

A police official stepped forward out of the crowd.

"Forgive my intruding, Your Eminence. I think the old man is not quite sound in his mind. He is perfectly harmless, and his papers are in order, so we don't interfere with him. He has been in penal servitude for a great crime, and is now doing penance."

"A great crime," the Gadfly repeated, shaking his head slowly.

"Thank you, captain; stand aside a little, please. My friend, nothing is hopeless if a man has sincerely repented. Will you not come to me this evening?"

"Would Your Eminence receive a man who is guilty of the death of his own son?"

The question had almost the tone of a challenge, and Montanelli shrank and shivered under it as under a cold wind.

"G.o.d forbid that I should condemn you, whatever you have done!" he said solemnly. "In His sight we are all guilty alike, and our righteousness is as filthy rags. If you will come to me I will receive you as I pray that He may one day receive me."

The Gadfly stretched out his hands with a sudden gesture of pa.s.sion.

"Listen!" he said; "and listen all of you, Christians! If a man has killed his only son--his son who loved and trusted him, who was flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone; if he has led his son into a death-trap with lies and deceit--is there hope for that man in earth or heaven?

I have confessed my sin before G.o.d and man, and I have suffered the punishment that men have laid on me, and they have let me go; but when will G.o.d say, 'It is enough'? What benediction will take away His curse from my soul? What absolution will undo this thing that I have done?"

In the dead silence that followed the people looked at Montanelli, and saw the heaving of the cross upon his breast.

He raised his eyes at last, and gave the benediction with a hand that was not quite steady.

"G.o.d is merciful," he said. "Lay your burden before His throne; for it is written: 'A broken and contrite heart shalt thou not despise.'"

He turned away and walked through the market-place, stopping everywhere to speak to the people, and to take their children in his arms.

In the evening the Gadfly, following the directions written on the wrapping of the image, made his way to the appointed meeting-place. It was the house of a local doctor, who was an active member of the "sect."

Most of the conspirators were already a.s.sembled, and their delight at the Gadfly's arrival gave him a new proof, if he had needed one, of his popularity as a leader.

"We're glad enough to see you again," said the doctor; "but we shall be gladder still to see you go. It's a fearfully risky business, and I, for one, was against the plan. Are you quite sure none of those police rats noticed you in the market-place this morning?"

"Oh, they n-noticed me enough, but they d-didn't recognize me.

Domenichino m-managed the thing capitally. But where is he? I don't see him."

"He has not come yet. So you got on all smoothly? Did the Cardinal give you his blessing?"

"His blessing? Oh, that's nothing," said Domenichino, coming in at the door. "Rivarez, you're as full of surprises as a Christmas cake. How many more talents are you going to astonish us with?"

"What is it now?" asked the Gadfly languidly. He was leaning back on a sofa, smoking a cigar. He still wore his pilgrim's dress, but the white beard and wig lay beside him.

"I had no idea you were such an actor. I never saw a thing done so magnificently in my life. You nearly moved His Eminence to tears."

"How was that? Let us hear, Rivarez."

The Gadfly shrugged his shoulders. He was in a taciturn and laconic mood, and the others, seeing that nothing was to be got out of him, appealed to Domenichino to explain. When the scene in the market-place had been related, one young workman, who had not joined in the laughter of the rest, remarked abruptly:

"It was very clever, of course; but I don't see what good all this play-acting business has done to anybody."

"Just this much," the Gadfly put in; "that I can go where I like and do what I like anywhere in this district, and not a single man, woman, or child will ever think of suspecting me. The story will be all over the place by to-morrow, and when I meet a spy he will only think: 'It's mad Diego, that confessed his sins in the market-place.' That is an advantage gained, surely."