"Alas!" I sighed. "I have abandoned the notion--constrained to it."
He took my bait. "Constrained?" quoth he. "Now what fool did so constrain
you?"
"No fool, but circumstance," I answered. "It has occurred to me," I
explained, and I boldly held his glance with my own, "that as a simple monk
my life would be fraught with perils, seeing that in these times even a
bishop is not safe."
Saving Bianca (who in her sweet innocence did not so much as dream of the
existence of such vileness as that to which I was referring and by which a
saintly man had met his death) I do not imagine that there was a single
person present who did not understand to what foul crime I alluded.
The silence that followed my words was as oppressive as the silence which
in Nature preludes thunder.
A vivid flame of scarlet had overspread the Duke's countenance. It
receded, leaving his cheeks a greenish white, even to the mottling pimples.
Abashed, his smouldering eyes fell away before my bold, defiant glance.
The fingers of his trembling hand tightened about the slender stem of his
Venetian goblet, so that it snapped, and there was a gush of crimson wine
upon the snowy napery. His lips were drawn back--like a dog's in the act
of snarling--and showed the black stumps of his broken teeth.
Pages:
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369