ught it was safer to agree.

"Certainly--certainly," he said, "it is the same in Italy."

"In Italy--not quite, my friend," said Mariana; "your needs are scarcely
the same. With you, cup-and-dagger are as common as--fleas, and as
little thought of. You have means (literally) to your hand! But here we
have to manufacture them, put spirit into them, send them out on their
mission as only we of the Gesu can do."

The Jesuit of Toledo paused a little in his argument, turning his eyes
from one to the other.

"As to this little matter," he said, again tapping the Papal Bull with
his finger-nail, "I have a man who will execute His Holiness's will--in
your national manner, my good Tullio. Only first, he would have a
mandate from the Holy Office, a sort of safe-conduct for his soul--the
promise of absolution for breaking his vow against the shedding of
blood. He is, I must tell you, a little Dominican of Sens, presently
misbehaving himself in the mother-college of St. Jacques at Paris. But
he is good material for all that, properly handled."

Teruel spoke with the natural caution of the peasant.

"But," said he, "we will be held responsible if aught goes amiss; our
duty here is difficult enough! The King----"

"The King I will take in my own hand," said Mariana. "I warrant you his
fullest protection, and approval. You shall have great favour--perhaps
even be moved to Seville or Granada, or some other place where Jews,
Moriscos, and heretics are frequent and rich. Write me the paper and
seal it with the seal official!"

So with his Papal Bull and an order from the chiefs of the Holy Office,
assembled in council at the nearest accessible point, Mariana withdrew
to his bed, and none in all the Street of the Money slept sounder than
he that night, though when he opened the window to let in a breath of
the cool, moist air off the Tet, the prayers of the prisoners could be
heard coming up in moaning gusts from the dungeons beneath.

* * * * *

The machinery set in motion by the Jesuit Mariana revolved statedly,
wheel within his wheel. The "young Dominican of Sens," delivering
himself to a strange but not unusual mixture of fanaticism and debauch,
misspent his days with the rabble of Paris, his evenings in listening to
the fair speeches and yet fairer promises of Madame de Montpensier, the
Duke of Guise's sister, while all night mysterious voices whispered in
the darkness of his cell that he wa