e!"

He stood up.

"You don't know what you are talking about," he said very slowly and
softly. "I--hate the Cardinal. He is the worst enemy I have."

"Enemy or no, you love him better than you love anyone else in the
world. Look me in the face and say that is not true, if you can!"

He turned away, and looked out into the garden. She watched him
furtively, half-scared at what she had done; there was something
terrifying in his silence. At last she stole up to him, like a
frightened child, and timidly pulled his sleeve. He turned round.

"It is true," he said.

CHAPTER XI.

"BUT c-c-can't I meet him somewhere in the hills? Brisighella is a risky
place for me."

"Every inch of ground in the Romagna is risky for you; but just at this
moment Brisighella is safer for you than any other place."

"Why?"

"I'll tell you in a minute. Don't let that man with the blue jacket
see your face; he's dangerous. Yes; it was a terrible storm; I don't
remember to have seen the vines so bad for a long time."

The Gadfly spread his arms on the table, and laid his face upon them,
like a man overcome with fatigue or wine; and the dangerous new-comer in
the blue jacket, glancing swiftly round, saw only two farmers discussing
their crops over a flask of wine and a sleepy mountaineer with his head
on the table. It was the usual sort of thing to see in little places
like Marradi; and the owner of the blue jacket apparently made up his
mind that nothing could be gained by listening; for he drank his wine at
a gulp and sauntered into the outer room. There he stood leaning on the
counter and gossiping lazily with the landlord, glancing every now and
then out of the corner of one eye through the open door, beyond which
sat the three figures at the table. The two farmers went on sipping
their wine and discussing the weather in the local dialect, and the
Gadfly snored like a man whose conscience is sound.

At last the spy seemed to make up his mind that there was nothing in the
wine-shop worth further waste of his time. He paid his reckoning, and,
lounging out of the house, sauntered away down the narrow street. The
Gadfly, yawning and stretching, lifted himself up and sleepily rubbed
the sleeve of his linen blouse across his eyes.

"Pretty sharp practice that," he said, pulling a clasp-knife out of his
pocket and cutting off a chunk from the rye-loaf on the table. "Have
they been worrying you much lately, Michele?"

"They've been