n the Via Giulia? All the Rome of olden time
sleeps there in the silence of forgetfulness."

With perfect ease he went on to speak of the Cardinal and even of
Benedetta--"the Countess," as he called her. But, although he was careful
to let no sign of anger escape him, the young priest could divine that he
was secretly quivering, full of suffering and spite. In him the
enthusiastic energy of his father appeared in a baser, degenerate form.
Quitting the yet handsome Princess Flavia in his passion for Benedetta,
her divinely beautiful niece, he had resolved to make the latter his own
at any cost, determined to marry her, to struggle with her and overcome
her, although he knew that she loved him not, and that he would almost
certainly wreck his entire life. Rather than relinquish her, however, he
would have set Rome on fire. And thus his hopeless suffering was now
great indeed: this woman was but his wife in name, and so torturing was
the thought of her disdain, that at times, however calm his outward
demeanour, he was consumed by a jealous vindictive sensual madness that
did not even recoil from the idea of crime.

"Monsieur l'Abbe is acquainted with the situation," sadly murmured old
Orlando.

His son responded by a wave of the hand, as though to say that everybody
was acquainted with it. "Ah! father," he added, "but for you I should
never have consented to take part in those proceedings for annulling the
marriage! The Countess would have found herself compelled to return here,
and would not nowadays be deriding us with her lover, that cousin of
hers, Dario!"

At this Orlando also waved his hand, as if in protest.

"Oh! it's a fact, father," continued Luigi. "Why did she flee from here
if it wasn't to go and live with her lover? And indeed, in my opinion,
it's scandalous that a Cardinal's palace should shelter such goings-on!"

This was the report which he spread abroad, the accusation which he
everywhere levelled against his wife, of publicly carrying on a shameless
_liaison_. In reality, however, he did not believe a word of it, being
too well acquainted with Benedetta's firm rectitude, and her
determination to belong to none but the man she loved, and to him only in
marriage. However, in Prada's eyes such accusations were not only fair
play but also very efficacious.

And now, although he turned pale with covert exasperation, and laughed a
hard, vindictive, cruel laugh, he went on to speak in a bantering tone of