s past
errors, had watched, had discovered, had acted. Only through her had
he been able to hold his own with the Minister, knowing what manner of
language to use with him. His other friends, the friends devoted to his
religious ideas, had slept, and were still sleeping. The bitter thought
that they no longer cared for him was pleasing to him. It was pleasant
to give himself up, for once at least, to pity for his own fate, for
once to drain the cup to the dregs, to picture his fate even more
painful and bitter than it really was. All were against him, all were
in league against him! Alone, alone, alone! And was he really strong
at heart? That man up there, that Minister who possessed genius
and personal kindliness--what if he were right, after all? What if
Catholicism were really past healing? Lo! the Lord Himself, the Lord
he had served, the Lord who had struck down his body, and delivered him
into the power of his enemies, now was abandoning his soul. Anguish,
mortal anguish! He longed to die on that very spot and to be at peace.

Above him he heard the voices of the Minister and the Under-Secretary,
who were coming down. Benedetto rose with an effort, and dragged himself
into the street. On the left, a few paces beyond the door, he saw
another carriage waiting. A servant in livery stood on the sidewalk
talking with the coachman. When Benedetto appeared the servant hastened
towards him. In the gaslight, Benedetto recognised the old Roman from
Villa Diedo, the footman of the Dessalles. It suddenly flashed across
his troubled brain that Jeanne was there in the carriage, waiting for
him, and he started back a step.

"No," said he. Meanwhile the carriage had moved forward; Benedetto
imagined he saw Jeanne, that he was being forced to get into the
carriage with her, and that he had not the strength to resist. Seized
with giddiness he staggered back again, and would have fallen had the
footman not caught him in his arms. He found himself in the carriage
without knowing how he had got there, with an unpleasant bright light
opposite to him, and a loud buzzing in his ears. Little by little he
understood. He was alone; an acetylene lamp was shining in his face. The
door on his right was open and the footman was speaking to him. What was
he saying? Where should they drive? To Villa Mayda? Yes, certainly, to
Villa Mayda. Could not that light be extinguished? The servant put it
out, and spoke of a paper. What paper? A paper the S