ort the figures of Benedetta and Dario rose up
before him, returned and imposed themselves on him though he again and
again sought to banish them from his mind. What if Benedetta, what if
Dario should partake of that fruit? For Benedetta he felt no fear, for he
knew that she and her aunt ate their meals by themselves, and that their
cuisine and the Cardinal's had nothing in common. But Dario sat at his
uncle's table every day, and for a moment Prada, pictured the young
Prince suddenly seized with a spasm, then falling, like poor Monsignor
Gallo, into the Cardinal's arms with livid face and receding eyes, and
dying within two hours.

But no, no! That would be frightful, he could not suffer such an
abomination. And thereupon he made up his mind. He would wait till the
night had completely gathered round and would then simply take the basket
from Santobono's lap and fling it into some dark hollow without saying a
word. The priest would understand him. The other one, the young
Frenchman, would perhaps not even notice the incident. Besides, that
mattered little, for he would not even attempt to explain his action. And
he felt quite calm again when the idea occurred to him to throw the
basket away while the carriage passed through the Porta Furba, a couple
of miles or so before reaching Rome. That would suit him exactly; in the
darkness of the gateway nothing whatever would be seen.

"We stopped too long at that _osteria_," he suddenly exclaimed aloud,
turning towards Pierre. "We sha'n't reach Rome much before six o'clock.
Still you will have time to dress and join your friend." And then without
awaiting the young man's reply he said to Santobono: "Your figs will
arrive very late, Abbe."

"Oh!" answered the priest, "his Eminence receives until eight o'clock.
And, besides, the figs are not for this evening. People don't eat figs in
the evening. They will be for to-morrow morning." And thereupon he again
relapsed into silence.

"For to-morrow morning--yes, yes, no doubt," repeated Prada. "And the
Cardinal will be able to thoroughly regale himself if nobody helps him to
eat the fruit."

Thereupon Pierre, without pausing to reflect, exclaimed: "He will no
doubt eat it by himself, for his nephew, Prince Dario, must have started
to-day for Naples on a little convalescence trip to rid himself of the
effects of the accident which laid him up during the last month." Then,
having got so far, the young priest remembered to whom he