Will you not come to me this evening?"
"Would Your Eminence receive a man who is guilty of the death of his own son?"
The question had almost the tone of a challenge, and Montanelli shrank and shivered under it as under a cold wind.
"God forbid that I should condemn you, whatever you have done!" he said solemnly. "In His sight we are all guilty alike, and our righteousness is as filthy rags.
If you will come to me I will receive you as I pray that He may one day receive me."
The Gadfly stretched out his hands with a sudden gesture of passion.
"Listen!" he said; "and listen all of you, Christians!
If a man has killed his only son--his son who loved and trusted him, who was flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone; if he has led his son into a death-trap with lies and deceit--is there hope for that man in earth or heaven?
I have confessed my sin before God and man, and I have suffered the punishment that men have laid on me, and they have let me go; but when will God say,
'It is enough'?
What benediction will take away His curse from my soul?
What absolution will undo this thing that I have done?"
In the dead silence that followed the people looked at Montanelli, and saw the heaving of the cross upon his breast.
He raised his eyes at last, and gave the benediction with a hand that was not quite steady.
"God is merciful," he said.
"Lay your burden before His throne; for it is written:
'A broken and contrite heart shalt thou not despise.'"
He turned away and walked through the market-place, stopping everywhere to speak to the people, and to take their children in his arms.
In the evening the Gadfly, following the directions written on the wrapping of the image, made his way to the appointed meeting-place.
It was the house of a local doctor, who was an active member of the "sect."
Most of the conspirators were already assembled, and their delight at the Gadfly's arrival gave him a new proof, if he had needed one, of his popularity as a leader.
"We're glad enough to see you again," said the doctor; "but we shall be gladder still to see you go.
It's a fearfully risky business, and I, for one, was against the plan.
Are you quite sure none of those police rats noticed you in the market-place this morning?"
"Oh, they n-noticed me enough, but they d-didn't recognize me.
Domenichino m-managed the thing capitally.
But where is he? I don't see him."
"He has not come yet.
So you got on all smoothly?
Did the Cardinal give you his blessing?"
"His blessing?
Oh, that's nothing," said Domenichino, coming in at the door. "Rivarez, you're as full of surprises as a Christmas cake.
How many more talents are you going to astonish us with?"
"What is it now?" asked the Gadfly languidly.
He was leaning back on a sofa, smoking a cigar. He still wore his pilgrim's dress, but the white beard and wig lay beside him.
"I had no idea you were such an actor.
I never saw a thing done so magnificently in my life.
You nearly moved His Eminence to tears."
"How was that?
Let us hear, Rivarez."
The Gadfly shrugged his shoulders.
He was in a taciturn and laconic mood, and the others, seeing that nothing was to be got out of him, appealed to Domenichino to explain.
When the scene in the market-place had been related, one young workman, who had not joined in the laughter of the rest, remarked abruptly:
"It was very clever, of course; but I don't see what good all this play-acting business has done to anybody."
"Just this much," the Gadfly put in; "that I can go where I like and do what I like anywhere in this district, and not a single man, woman, or child will ever think of suspecting me.
The story will be all over the place by to-morrow, and when I meet a spy he will only think:
'It's mad Diego, that confessed his sins in the market-place.'
That is an advantage gained, surely."
"Yes, I see.
Still, I wish the thing could have been done without fooling the Cardinal.