"BUT c-c-can't I meet him somewhere in the hills? Brisighella is a risky1 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 fatigue3 or wine; and the dangerous new-comer in the blue jacket, glancing swiftly round, saw only two farmers discussing their crops over a flask4 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 apparently5 made up his mind that nothing could be gained by listening; for he drank his wine at a gulp6 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 sipping7 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 linen8 blouse across his eyes.
"Pretty sharp practice that," he said, pulling a clasp-knife out of his pocket and cutting off a chunk9 from the rye-loaf on the table. "Have they been worrying you much lately, Michele?"
"They've been worse than mosquitos in August. There's no getting a minute's peace; wherever one goes, there's always a spy hanging about. Even right up in the hills, where they used to be so shy about venturing, they have taken to coming in bands of three or four--haven't they, Gino? That's why we arranged for you to meet Domenichino in the town."
"Yes; but why Brisighella? A frontier town is always full of spies."
"Brisighella just now is a capital place. It's swarming10 with pilgrims from all parts of the country."
"But it's not on the way to anywhere."
"It's not far out of the way to Rome, and many of the Easter Pilgrims are going round to hear Mass there."
"I d-d-didn't know there was anything special in Brisighella."
"There's the Cardinal11. Don't you remember his going to Florence to preach last December? It's that same Cardinal Montanelli. They say he made a great sensation."
"I dare say; I don't go to hear sermons."
"Well, he has the reputation of being a saint, you see."
"How does he manage that?"
"I don't know. I suppose it's because he gives away all his income, and lives like a parish priest with four or five hundred scudi a year."
"Ah!" interposed the man called Gino; "but it's more than that. He doesn't only give away money; he spends his whole life in looking after the poor, and seeing the sick are properly treated, and hearing complaints and grievances12 from morning till night. I'm no fonder of priests than you are, Michele, but Monsignor Montanelli is not like other Cardinals13."
"Oh, I dare say he's more fool than knave14!" said Michele. "Anyhow, the people are mad after him, and the last new freak is for the pilgrims to go round that way to ask his blessing15. Domenichino thought of going as a pedlar, with a basket of cheap crosses and rosaries. The people like to buy those things and ask the Cardinal to touch them; then they put them round their babies' necks to keep off the evil eye."
"Wait a minute. How am I to go--as a pilgrim? This make-up suits me p-pretty well, I think; but it w-won't do for me to show myself in Brisighella in the same character that I had here; it would be ev-v-vidence against you if I get taken."
"You won't get taken; we have a splendid disguise for you, with a passport and all complete."
"What is it?"
"An old Spanish pilgrim--a repentant16 brigand17 from the Sierras. He fell ill in Ancona last year, and one of our friends took him on board a trading-vessel out of charity, and set him down in Venice, where he had friends, and he left his papers with us to show his gratitude18. They will just do for you."
"A repentant b-b-brigand? But w-what about the police?"
"Oh, that's all right! He finished his term of the galleys19 some years ago, and has been going about to Jerusalem and all sorts of places saving his soul ever since. He killed his son by mistake for somebody else, and gave himself up to the police in a fit of remorse21."
"Was he quite old?"
"Yes; but a white beard and wig22 will set that right, and the description suits you to perfection in every other respect. He was an old soldier, with a lame23 foot and a sabre-cut across the face like yours; and then his being a Spaniard, too-- you see, if you meet any Spanish pilgrims, you can talk to them all right."
"Where am I to meet Domenichino?"
"You join the pilgrims at the cross-road that we will show you on the map, saying you had lost your way in the hills. Then, when you reach the town, you go with the rest of them into the marketplace, in front of the Cardinal's palace."
"Oh, he manages to live in a p-palace, then, in s-spite of being a saint?"
"He lives in one wing of it, and has turned the rest into a hospital. Well, you all wait there for him to come out and give his benediction24, and Domenichino will come up with his basket and say: "Are you one of the pilgrims, father?" and you answer: 'I am a miserable25 sinner.' Then he puts down his basket and wipes his face with his sleeve, and you offer him six soldi for a rosary."
"Then, of course, he arranges where we can talk?"
"Yes; he will have plenty of time to give you the address of the meeting-place while the people are gaping26 at Montanelli. That was our plan; but if you don't like it, we can let Domenichino know and arrange something else."
"No; it will do; only see that the beard and wig look natural."
. . . . .
"Are you one of the pilgrims, father?"
The Gadfly, sitting on the steps of the episcopal palace, looked up from under his ragged27 white locks, and gave the password in a husky, trembling voice, with a strong foreign accent. Domenichino slipped the leather strap28 from his shoulder, and set down his basket of pious29 gewgaws on the step. The crowd of peasants and pilgrims sitting on the steps and lounging about the market-place was taking no notice of them, but for precaution's sake they kept up a desultory30 conversation, Domenichino speaking in the local dialect and the Gadfly in broken Italian, intermixed with Spanish words.
"His Eminence31! His Eminence is coming out!" shouted the people by the door. "Stand aside! His Eminence is coming!"
They both stood up.
"Here, father," said Domenichino, putting into the Gadfly's hand a little image wrapped in paper; "take this, too, and pray for me when you get to Rome."
The Gadfly thrust it into his breast, and turned to look at the figure in the violet Lenten robe and scarlet32 cap that was standing33 on the upper step and blessing the people with outstretched arms.
Montanelli came slowly down the steps, the people crowding about him to kiss his hands. Many knelt down and put the hem2 of his cassock to their lips as he passed.
"Peace be with you, my children!"
At the sound of the clear, silvery voice, the Gadfly bent34 his head, so that the white hair fell across his face; and Domenichino, seeing the quivering of the pilgrim's staff in his hand, said to himself with admiration35: "What an actor!"
A woman standing near to them stooped down and lifted her child from the step. "Come, Cecco," she said. "His Eminence will bless you as the dear Lord blessed the children."
The Gadfly moved a step forward and stopped. Oh, it was hard! All these outsiders--these pilgrims and mountaineers--could go up and speak to him, and he would lay his hand on their children's hair. Perhaps he would say "Carino" to that peasant boy, as he used to say----
The Gadfly sank down again on the step, turning away that he might not see. If only he could shrink into some corner and stop his ears to shut out the sound! Indeed, it was more than any man should have to bear--to be so close, so close that he could have put out his arm and touched the dear hand.
"Will you not come under shelter, my friend?" the soft voice said. "I am afraid you are chilled."
The Gadfly's heart stood still. For a moment he was conscious of nothing but the sickening pressure of the blood that seemed as if it would tear his breast asunder36; then it rushed back, tingling37 and burning through all his body, and he looked up. The grave, deep eyes above him grew suddenly tender with divine compassion38 at the sight of his face.
"Stand bark a little, friends," Montanelli said, turning to the crowd; "I want to speak to him."
The people fell slowly back, whispering to each other, and the Gadfly, sitting motionless, with teeth clenched39 and eyes on the ground, felt the gentle touch of Montanelli's hand upon his shoulder.
"You have had some great trouble. Can I do anything to help you?"
The Gadfly shook his head in silence.
"Are you a pilgrim?"
"I am a miserable sinner."
The accidental similarity of Montanelli's question to the password came like a chance straw, that the Gadfly, in his desperation, caught at, answering automatically. He had begun to tremble under the soft pressure of the hand that seemed to burn upon his shoulder.
The Cardinal bent down closer to him.
"Perhaps you would care to speak to me alone? If I can be any help to you----"
For the first time the Gadfly looked straight and steadily40 into Montanelli's eyes; he was already recovering his self-command.
"It would be no use," he said; "the thing is hopeless."
A police official stepped forward out of the crowd.
"Forgive my intruding41, Your Eminence. I think the old man is not quite sound in his mind. He is perfectly42 harmless, and his papers are in order, so we don't interfere43 with him. He has been in penal44 servitude for a great crime, and is now doing penance45."
"A great crime," the Gadfly repeated, shaking his head slowly.
"Thank you, captain; stand aside a little, please. My friend, nothing is hopeless if a man has sincerely repented46. 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 condemn47 you, whatever you have done!" he said solemnly. "In His sight we are all guilty alike, and our righteousness is as filthy48 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, Christians49! 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 undo50 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 contrite51 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 "sect52." Most of the conspirators53 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 smoothly54? 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 shrugged55 his shoulders. He was in a taciturn and laconic56 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 abruptly57:
"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. He's too good to have that sort of trick played on him."
"I thought myself he seemed fairly decent," the Gadfly lazily assented58.
"Nonsense, Sandro! We don't want Cardinals here!" said Domenichino. "And if Monsignor Montanelli had taken that post in Rome when he had the chance of getting it, Rivarez couldn't have fooled him."
"He wouldn't take it because he didn't want to leave his work here."
"More likely because he didn't want to get poisoned off by Lambruschini's agents. They've got something against him, you may depend upon it. When a Cardinal, especially such a popular one, 'prefers to stay' in a God-forsaken little hole like this, we all know what that means--don't we, Rivarez?"
The Gadfly was making smoke-rings. "Perhaps it is a c-c-case of a 'b-b-broken and contrite heart,'" he remarked, leaning his head back to watch them float away. "And now, men, let us get to business."
They began to discuss in detail the various plans which had been formed for the smuggling59 and concealment60 of weapons. The Gadfly listened with keen attention, interrupting every now and then to correct sharply some inaccurate61 statement or imprudent proposal. When everyone had finished speaking, he made a few practical suggestions, most of which were adopted without discussion. The meeting then broke up. It had been resolved that, at least until he was safely back in Tuscany, very late meetings, which might attract the notice of the police, should be avoided. By a little after ten o'clock all had dispersed62 except the doctor, the Gadfly, and Domenichino, who remained as a sub-committee for the discussion of special points. After a long and hot dispute, Domenichino looked up at the clock.
"Half-past eleven; we mustn't stop any longer or the night-watchman may see us."
"When does he pass?" asked the Gadfly.
"About twelve o'clock; and I want to be home before he comes. Good-night, Giordani. Rivarez, shall we walk together?"
"No; I think we are safer apart. Then I shall see you again?"
"Yes; at Castel Bolognese. I don't know yet what disguise I shall be in, but you have the passWord. You leave here to-morrow, I think?"
The Gadfly was carefully putting on his beard and wig before the looking-glass.
"To-morrow morning, with the pilgrims. On the next day I fall ill and stop behind in a shepherd's hut, and then take a short cut across the hills. I shall be down there before you will. Good-night!"
Twelve o'clock was striking from the Cathedral bell-tower as the Gadfly looked in at the door of the great empty barn which had been thrown open as a lodging63 for the pilgrims. The floor was covered with clumsy figures, most of which were snoring lustily, and the air was insufferably close and foul64. He drew back with a little shudder65 of repugnance66; it would be useless to attempt to sleep in there; he would take a walk, and then find some shed or haystack which would, at least, be clean and quiet.
It was a glorious night, with a great full moon gleaming in a purple sky. He began to wander through the streets in an aimless way, brooding miserably67 over the scene of the morning, and wishing that he had never consented to Domenichino's plan of holding the meeting in Brisighella. If at the beginning he had declared the project too dangerous, some other place would have been chosen; and both he and Montanelli would have been spared this ghastly, ridiculous farce68.
How changed the Padre was! And yet his voice was not changed at all; it was just the same as in the old days, when he used to say: "Carino."
The lantern of the night-watchman appeared at the other end of the street, and the Gadfly turned down a narrow, crooked69 alley20. After walking a few yards he found himself in the Cathedral Square, close to the left wing of the episcopal palace. The square was flooded with moonlight, and there was no one in sight; but he noticed that a side door of the Cathedral was ajar. The sacristan must have forgotten to shut it. Surely nothing could be going on there so late at night. He might as well go in and sleep on one of the benches instead of in the stifling70 barn; he could slip out in the morning before the sacristan came; and even if anyone did find him, the natural supposition would be that mad Diego had been saying his prayers in some corner, and had got shut in.
He listened a moment at the door, and then entered with the noiseless step that he had retained notwithstanding his lameness71. The moonlight streamed through the windows, and lay in broad bands on the marble floor. In the chancel, especially, everything was as clearly visible as by daylight. At the foot of the altar steps Cardinal Montanelli knelt alone, bare-headed, with clasped hands.
The Gadfly drew back into the shadow. Should he slip away before Montanelli saw him? That, no doubt, would be the wisest thing to do--perhaps the most merciful. And yet, what harm could it do for him to go just a little nearer--to look at the Padre's face once more, now that the crowd was gone, and there was no need to keep up the hideous72 comedy of the morning? Perhaps it would be his last chance--and the Padre need not see him; he would steal up softly and look-- just this once. Then he would go back to his work.
Keeping in the shadow of the pillars, he crept softly up to the chancel rails, and paused at the side entrance, close to the altar. The shadow of the episcopal throne was broad enough to cover him, and he crouched73 down in the darkness, holding his breath.
"My poor boy! Oh, God; my poor boy!"
The broken whisper was full of such endless despair that the Gadfly shuddered74 in spite of himself. Then came deep, heavy, tearless sobs75; and he saw Montanelli wring76 his hands together like a man in bodily pain.
He had not thought it would be so bad as this. How often had he said to himself with bitter assurance: "I need not trouble about it; that wound was healed long ago." Now, after all these years, it was laid bare before him, and he saw it bleeding still. And how easy it would be to heal it now at last! He need only lift his hand--only step forward and say: "Padre, it is I." There was Gemma, too, with that white streak77 across her hair. Oh, if he could but forgive! If he could but cut out from his memory the past that was burned into it so deep--the Lascar, and the sugar-plantation, and the variety show! Surely there was no other misery78 like this--to be willing to forgive, to long to forgive; and to know that it was hopeless--that he could not, dared not forgive.
Montanelli rose at last, made the sign of the cross, and turned away from the altar. The Gadfly shrank further back into the shadow, trembling with fear lest he should be seen, lest the very beating of his heart should betray him; then he drew a long breath of relief. Montanelli had passed him, so close that the violet robe had brushed against his cheek,--had passed and had not seen him.
Had not seen him---- Oh, what had he done? This had been his last chance--this one precious moment--and he had let it slip away. He started up and stepped into the light.
"Padre!"
The sound of his own voice, ringing up and dying away along the arches of the roof, filled him with fantastic terror. He shrank back again into the shadow. Montanelli stood beside the pillar, motionless, listening with wide-open eyes, full of the horror of death. How long the silence lasted the Gadfly could not tell; it might have been an instant, or an eternity79. He came to his senses with a sudden shock. Montanelli was beginning to sway as though he would fall, and his lips moved, at first silently.
"Arthur!" the low whisper came at last; "yes, the water is deep----"
The Gadfly came forward.
"Forgive me, Your Eminence! I thought it was one of the priests."
"Ah, it is the pilgrim?" Montanelli had at once recovered his self-control, though the Gadfly could see, from the restless glitter of the sapphire80 on his hand, that he was still trembling. "Are you in need of anything, my friend? It is late, and the Cathedral is closed at night."
"I beg pardon, Your Eminence, if I have done wrong. I saw the door open, and came in to pray, and when I saw a priest, as I thought, in meditation81, I waited to ask a blessing on this."
He held up the little tin cross that he had bought from Domenichino. Montanelli took it from his hand, and, re-entering the chancel, laid it for a moment on the altar.
"Take it, my son," he said, "and be at rest, for the Lord is tender and pitiful. Go to Rome, and ask the blessing of His minister, the Holy Father. Peace be with you!"
The Gadfly bent his head to receive the benediction, and turned slowly away.
"Stop!" said Montanelli.
He was standing with one hand on the chancel rail.
"When you receive the Holy Eucharist in Rome," he said, "pray for one in deep affliction-- for one on whose soul the hand of the Lord is heavy."
There were almost tears in his voice, and the Gadfly's resolution wavered. Another instant and he would have betrayed himself. Then the thought of the variety-show came up again, and he remembered, like Jonah, that he did well to be angry.
"Who am I, that He should hear my prayers? A leper and an outcast! If I could bring to His throne, as Your Eminence can, the offering of a holy life--of a soul without spot or secret shame------"
Montanelli turned abruptly away.
"I have only one offering to give," he said; "a broken heart."
. . . . .
A few days later the Gadfly returned to Florence in the diligence from Pistoja. He went straight to Gemma's lodgings82, but she was out. Leaving a message that he would return in the morning he went home, sincerely hoping that he should not again find his study invaded by Zita. Her jealous reproaches would act on his nerves, if he were to hear much of them to-night, like the rasping of a dentist's file.
"Good-evening, Bianca," he said when the maid-servant opened the door. "Has Mme. Reni been here to-day?"
She stared at him blankly
"Mme. Reni? Has she come back, then, sir?"
"What do you mean?" he asked with a frown, stopping short on the mat.
"She went away quite suddenly, just after you did, and left all her things behind her. She never so much as said she was going."
"Just after I did? What, a f-fortnight ago?"
"Yes, sir, the same day; and her things are lying about higgledy-piggledy. All the neighbours are talking about it."
He turned away from the door-step without speaking, and went hastily down the lane to the house where Zita had been lodging. In her rooms nothing had been touched; all the presents that he had given her were in their usual places; there was no letter or scrap83 of writing anywhere.
"If you please, sir," said Bianca, putting her head in at the door, "there's an old woman----"
He turned round fiercely.
"What do you want here--following me about?"
"An old woman wishes to see you."
"What does she want? Tell her I c-can't see her; I'm busy."
"She has been coming nearly every evening since you went away, sir, always asking when you would come back."
"Ask her w-what her business is. No; never mind; I suppose I must go myself."
The old woman was waiting at his hall door. She was very poorly dressed, with a face as brown and wrinkled as a medlar, and a bright-coloured scarf twisted round her head. As he came in she rose and looked at him with keen black eyes.
"You are the lame gentleman," she said, inspecting him critically from head to foot. "I have brought you a message from Zita Reni."
He opened the study door, and held it for her to pass in; then followed her and shut the door, that Bianca might not hear.
"Sit down, please. N-now, tell me who you are."
"It's no business of yours who I am. I have come to tell you that Zita Reni has gone away with my son."
"With--your--son?"
"Yes, sir; if you don't know how to keep your mistress when you've got her, you can't complain if other men take her. My son has blood in his veins84, not milk and water; he comes of the Romany folk."
"Ah, you are a gipsy! Zita has gone back to her own people, then?"
She looked at him in amazed contempt. Apparently, these Christians had not even manhood enough to be angry when they were insulted.
"What sort of stuff are you made of, that she should stay with you? Our women may lend themselves to you a bit for a girl's fancy, or if you pay them well; but the Romany blood comes back to the Romany folk."
The Gadfly's face remained as cold and steady as before.
"Has she gone away with a gipsy camp, or merely to live with your son?"
The woman burst out laughing.
"Do you think of following her and trying to win her back? It's too late, sir; you should have thought of that before!"
"No; I only want to know the truth, if you will tell it to me."
She shrugged her shoulders; it was hardly worth while to abuse a person who took it so meekly85.
"The truth, then, is that she met my son in the road the day you left her, and spoke86 to him in the Romany tongue; and when he saw she was one of our folk, in spite of her fine clothes, he fell in love with her bonny face, as OUR men fall in love, and took her to our camp. She told us all her trouble, and sat crying and sobbing87, poor lassie, till our hearts were sore for her. We comforted her as best we could; and at last she took off her fine clothes and put on the things our lasses wear, and gave herself to my son, to be his woman and to have him for her man. He won't say to her: 'I don't love you,' and: 'I've other things to do.' When a woman is young, she wants a man; and what sort of man are you, that you can't even kiss a handsome girl when she puts her arms round your neck?"
"You said," he interrupted, "that you had brought me a message from her."
"Yes; I stopped behind when the camp went on, so as to give it. She told me to say that she has had enough of your folk and their hair-splitting and their sluggish88 blood; and that she wants to get back to her own people and be free. 'Tell him,' she said, 'that I am a woman, and that I loved him; and that is why I would not be his harlot any longer.' The lassie was right to come away. There's no harm in a girl getting a bit of money out of her good looks if she can--that's what good looks are for; but a Romany lass has nothing to do with LOVING a man of your race."
The Gadfly stood up.
"Is that all the message?" he said. "Then tell her, please, that I think she has done right, and that I hope she will be happy. That is all I have to say. Good-night!"
He stood perfectly still until the garden gate closed behind her; then he sat down and covered his face with both hands.
Another blow on the cheek! Was no rag of pride to be left him--no shred89 of self-respect? Surely he had suffered everything that man can endure; his very heart had been dragged in the mud and trampled90 under the feet of the passers-by; there was no spot in his soul where someone's contempt was not branded in, where someone's mockery had not left its iron trace. And now this gipsy girl, whom he had picked up by the wayside-- even she had the whip in her hand.
Shaitan whined91 at the door, and the Gadfly rose to let him in. The dog rushed up to his master with his usual frantic92 manifestations93 of delight, but soon, understanding that something was wrong, lay down on the rug beside him, and thrust a cold nose into the listless hand.
An hour later Gemma came up to the front door. No one appeared in answer to her knock; Bianca, finding that the Gadfly did not want any dinner, had slipped out to visit a neighbour's cook. She had left the door open, and a light burning in the hall. Gemma, after waiting for some time, decided94 to enter and try if she could find the Gadfly, as she wished to speak to him about an important message which had come from Bailey. She knocked at the study door, and the Gadfly's voice answered from within: "You can go away, Bianca. I don't want anything."
She softly opened the door. The room was quite dark, but the passage lamp threw a long stream of light across it as she entered, and she saw the Gadfly sitting alone, his head sunk on his breast, and the dog asleep at his feet.
"It is I," she said.
He started up. "Gemma,---- Gemma! Oh, I have wanted you so!"
Before she could speak he was kneeling on the floor at her feet and hiding his face in the folds of her dress. His whole body was shaken with a convulsive tremor95 that was worse to see than tears.
She stood still. There was nothing she could do to help him--nothing. This was the bitterest thing of all. She must stand by and look on passively --she who would have died to spare him pain. Could she but dare to stoop and clasp her arms about him, to hold him close against her heart and shield him, were it with her own body, from all further harm or wrong; surely then he would be Arthur to her again; surely then the day would break and the shadows flee away.
Ah, no, no! How could he ever forget? Was it not she who had cast him into hell--she, with her own right hand?
She had let the moment slip by. He rose hastily and sat down by the table, covering his eyes with one hand and biting his lip as if he would bite it through.
Presently he looked up and said quietly:
"I am afraid I startled you."
She held out both her hands to him. "Dear," she said, "are we not friends enough by now for you to trust me a little bit? What is it?"
"Only a private trouble of my own. I don't see why you should be worried over it."
"Listen a moment," she went on, taking his hand in both of hers to steady its convulsive trembling. "I have not tried to lay hands on a thing that is not mine to touch. But now that you have given me, of your own free will, so much of your confidence, will you not give me a little more--as you would do if I were your sister. Keep the mask on your face, if it is any consolation96 to you, but don't wear a mask on your soul, for your own sake."
He bent his head lower. "You must be patient with me," he said. "I am an unsatisfactory sort of brother to have, I'm afraid; but if you only knew---- I have been nearly mad this last week. It has been like South America again. And somehow the devil gets into me and----" He broke off.
"May I not have my share in your trouble?" she whispered at last.
His head sank down on her arm. "The hand of the Lord is heavy."
“但是我能、能、能在山里某个地方见他吗？对我来说，布里西盖拉是个危险的地方。”
“罗马尼阿每寸土地对你都是危险的，但在目前对你来说，布里西盖拉要比其他地方更加安全。”
“为什么？”
“我马上就告诉你。别让那个身穿蓝布上衣的家伙看见你的脸，他是一个危险人物。对，那场暴风雨真是可怕。好久没有见到葡萄的收成这么糟糕。”
牛虻在桌上摊开他的双臂，并且把脸伏在上面，像是劳累过度或者饮酒过量。刚来的那个身穿蓝布上衣的家伙迅速往四下扫了一眼，只有两个农民对着一瓶酒讨论收成，还有一个山民伏在桌上睡觉。在马拉迪这个小地方，这样的情景司空见惯。身穿蓝布上衣的家伙显然断定在一旁偷听也不会有什么收获，因为他一口把酒喝了下去，就晃悠悠地走到另一间屋子。他在那儿靠在柜台上，懒洋洋地和掌柜聊着天，时不时透过敞开的门，用眼角的余光观察坐在桌边的三个人。两个农民继续喝酒，并用当地的方言讨论天气，牛虻则打着呼噜，就像是一个无牵无挂的人。
那个暗探最后似乎断定不值得在这家酒店里浪费时间。
他付完帐后出了酒店，晃悠悠地朝狭窄的街道那头走去。牛虻打着呵欠，伸着懒腰。他抬起身体，睡眼惺忪地用粗布褂子揉着眼睛。
“装模作样可真不容易。”他说，随即拿出一把小刀，从桌上的黑面包切下一块。“米歇尔，让你担惊受怕了吧？”
“他们比八月份的蚊子更毒。没有片刻的宁静。不管你走到哪儿，总有暗探在周围转悠。甚至山里都有，他们原先可不敢进去冒险，现在他们开始三五成群去那里活动——吉诺，对吗？因此我们安排你在镇上和多米尼季诺见面。”
“是啊，但是为什么要在布里西盖拉呢？边境小镇总是布满了暗探。”
“布里西盖拉现在可是最好的地方。全国各地的朝圣者都汇集到这里。”
“但是这里并不是一个交通便利的地方啊。”
“这里离罗马不远，许多复活节的朝圣者要来这里参加弥撒。”
“我并、并、并不知道布里西盖拉还有什么特别的地方。”
“这儿有红衣主教啊。去年十二月他去了佛罗伦萨，你不记得吗？就是蒙泰尼里红衣主教。他们说他在那儿引起了轰动。”
“大概是吧，我从来不去听布道。”
“呃，你知道他声望卓著，像是一位圣人。”
“他是怎么出的名？”
“我不知道。我想是因为他捐出了他的全部收入，就像一个教区神父一样，一年仅靠四五百斯库多生活。”
“啊！”那个叫做吉诺的人插言说道。“但是远不止这些。他并不只是捐出他的钱，他把毕生的精力都用来照顾穷人，设法安排病人得到治疗，从早到晚聆听别人诉苦喊冤。我并不比你更喜欢神父，米歇尔，但是蒙泰尼里大人不像其他的红衣主教。
“噢，我敢说与其说他是个坏蛋，倒不如说他是蠢蛋！”米歇尔说道。“反正人们对他如痴如迷，最近还有一个新的怪诞行为。朝圣者绕道请求得到他的祝福。多米尼季诺想过扮成一个小贩，挎上装着廉价十字架和念珠的篮子。人们喜欢购买这些东西，请求红衣主教触摸它们，然后把它们挂在小孩的脖子上辟邪。”
“等一等。我扮成朝圣者——进去怎么样？我想这种装扮对我非常合适，但是扮成我上次到这儿来的形象可不—不行。如果我被抓了起来，这会成为对你们不利的证据。”
“你不会被抓住的，我们给你准备了一套绝佳的装束，还有一份护照，一切都办齐了。”
“什么样的装束？”
“一位西班牙老年朝圣者的装束——一个悔过自新的土匪，来自锡拉斯。他去年在安科纳生了病，我们的一位朋友本着慈善之心把他带到一条货船上，送他去了威尼斯。他在那里有朋友，为了表示感谢，他把他的证件留给了我们。这些证件对你正合适。”
“一个悔过自新的土、土、土匪？但是警察怎、怎么办？”
“噢，那没事！他在多年以前就服完了划船的苦役。自那以后，他就去耶路撒冷和其他地方朝圣，以便挽救他的灵魂。他把他的儿子当成别人给杀死了，他悔恨交加，遂到誓察局自首了。”
“他年纪很大吗？”
“对，但是弄个白胡子和假发就行了。至于其他的地方，证件叙述的特征跟你极为相符。他是个老兵，像你一样瘸着腿，脸上有一块刀疤。他也是个西班牙人——你瞧，如果你遇见了西班牙的朝圣者，你完全可以和他们交谈。”
“我在哪儿与多米尼季诺见面？”
“你跟随朝圣者走到十字路口，我们会在地图上指给你看。你就说在山里迷了路。然后到了镇上时，你就和其他人走进集市，集市就在红衣主教宫殿的前面。”
“这么说来，尽管他是一个圣人，他还是没法住在宫殿里？”
“他住在一侧的厢房里，其余的房子改成了医院。你们全都在那里等他出来为你们祝福。多米尼季诺会挎着篮子过来问你：‘老大爷，你是一位朝圣者吗？’你回答：‘我是一位苦命的罪人。’然后他放下篮子用袖子擦脸，你就给他六个斯库多，买一挂念珠。”
“然后他当然就会安排谈话的地方吗？”
“对。在人们张着嘴巴望着蒙泰尼里时，他会有足够的时间把见面的地址告诉你。这就是我们的计划，但是如果你不喜欢这个计划，我们可以告诉多米尼季诺，并且安排别的方法见面。”
“不，这就挺好。只是务必要把胡子和假发弄得和真的一样。”
牛虻坐在主教宫殿的台阶上，白发苍苍。他抬头说出了暗号，声音嘶哑而又颤抖，带有很重的外国口音。多米尼季诺从肩上取下皮带，把装着敬神小玩意的篮子放在台阶上。那群农民和朝圣者，有的坐在台阶上，有的在集市走动，全都没有注意他们。但是为了谨慎起见，他们还是不着边际地聊着天。多米尼季诺说的是当地的方言，牛虻操的是不大连贯的意大利语，中间还夹杂着西班牙语。
“主教阁下！主教阁下出来了！”靠近门口的人们叫道。
“闪开！主教阁下出来了！”
他俩也站了起来。
“这儿，老大爷，”多米尼季诺说道，随即把用纸包的小神像塞进牛虻手里，“把这个拿着，到了罗马时你要为我祈祷。”
牛虻把它塞进胸前，然后转身张望站在台阶最高一层的那个人。他身穿大斋期紫色法衣，头戴鲜红色的帽子，正伸出双臂祝福众人。
蒙泰尼里缓步走下台阶，围在身边的人亲吻着他的双手。
许多人跪了下来，在他经过时撩起法衣的下摆贴近自己的嘴唇。
“祝你们平安，我的孩子们！”
听到那个清脆的声音，牛虻低下了头，这样一头的白发就遮盖了他的面孔。多米尼季诺看见这位朝圣者的手杖在手中抖动，暗自佩服：“真会演戏！”
站在他们附近的一位女人弯腰从台阶上抱起了她的孩子。“来吧，塞柯，”她说，“主教阁下将会赐福于你，就像上帝赐福于孩子们一样。”
牛虻向前走了一步，然后停了下来。噢，真是无法忍受！
这些外人——这些朝圣者和山民——可以走上前去跟他说话，他会把手放在孩子们的头上，也许他还会对那个农民的男孩说“Carino”，以前他就常这样说——
牛虻又坐在台阶上，扭过头去，不忍再看下去。如果他能缩到某个角落，捂住耳朵不再听到那个声音就好了！的确，任何人都无法忍受——离得这么近，近到他可以伸出他的胳膊，碰到那只亲爱的手。
“我的朋友，你不进去歇歇吗？”那个柔和的声音说道，“恐怕你受了寒。”
牛虻的心脏停止了跳动。霎时间，他失去了知觉。他只是觉得血压上升，直犯恶心。上升的血压仿佛扯碎了他的胸，然后又降了下来，在他的身体里面振荡、燃烧。他抬起了头，看见了他的脸。上方的那双眼睛突然变得温柔起来，充满了神授的同情。
“朋友们，退后一些，”蒙泰尼里转身对人群说道，“我想和他说话。”
人们往后退去，相互窃窃私语。牛虻坐在那里，一动也不动，咬紧牙关，眼睛盯着地面。他感到蒙泰尼里的手轻轻地搭在他的肩上。
“你有过巨大的不幸。我能帮你吗？”
牛虻默默地摇了摇头。
“你是一位朝圣者吗？”
“我是一位苦命的罪人。”
蒙泰尼里的问题竟与暗号相符，这无疑成了一根救命草。
牛虻在绝望之中机械地作了回答。他开始颤抖起来，那只手轻轻地按着，仿佛灼痛了他的肩膀。
红衣主教俯下身来，靠得更近。
“也许你愿意单独跟我谈谈？如果我能帮你——”
牛虻第一次平静地直视蒙泰尼里的眼睛，他已经恢复了自制。
“没有用的，”他说，“这事没有什么希望。”
一名警官从人群中走了出来。
“主教阁下，恕我打扰一下。我看这个老头神志不清。他绝对没有什么恶意，他的证件齐全，所以我们没有管他。他犯了大罪，服过苦役，现在是在悔过。”
“大罪。”牛虻重复说道，缓缓地摇了摇头。
“谢谢你，队长。请往旁边站点。我的朋友，如果一个人真诚忏悔，那么就没有什么是没有希望的。今晚你能来找我一下吗？”
“主教阁下愿意接待一个杀死亲生儿子的人吗？”
这个问题几乎带有挑战的语气，蒙泰尼里听了直往后缩，身体发抖，像是遇到了冷风。
“不管你做过什么，上帝都禁止我谴责你！”他庄重地说道。“在他的眼里，我们全都是有罪的，我们的正直就像肮脏的破布一样。如果你来找我的话，我会接待你的，就像我祈祷上帝有一天也许会接待我一样。”
牛虻伸出双手，突然作出了一个热情洋溢的手势。
“听着！”他说，“基督徒们，你们全都听着！如果一个人杀死了他的唯一儿子——热爱并且信任他的儿子，他的亲生骨肉；如果他用欺骗和谎言诱使他的儿子走进死亡陷阱——那么这人在人间或者天堂还有希望吗？我在上帝和凡人之前都已忏悔了我的罪过，我已承受了凡人加于我的惩罚，他们已经对我网开一面。但是什么时候上帝才会说出‘够了’呢？什么样的祝福才能从我的心灵之中解除他的诅咒呢？什么样的宽恕才会挽回我所做的那事呢？”
在随后的死寂中，人们望着蒙泰尼里。他们看见他胸前的十字架起伏不停。
他最后抬起眼睛，举起一只并不平稳的手为他祝福。
“上帝是慈悲的，”他说，“在他的神座前放下你的重负，因为圣书上写道：‘你们不该蔑视一颗破碎的、痛悔的心。’”
他转身穿过集市，不时停下来和人交谈，并且抱一抱他们的孩子。
根据写在神像包装纸上的指令，牛虻在晚上到了约好的见面地点。这是当地一位医生的家，他是“团体”的一名积极成员。大多数的革命党人都已到了，牛虻的到来使他们欢欣鼓舞。这给了他以新的证明，证明他作为一名领袖深孚众望，如果他需要这种证明的话。
“能够再次见到你，我们感到非常高兴，”医生说道，“但是我们见到你后会感到更加害怕。这事极其冒险，让人感到害怕。我是反对这个计划的。你真的相信今天上午那些警察耗子没有注意上你吗？”
“噢，他们够注、注意上我了，但是他们没、没有认出我来。多米尼季诺把这事安排得很好。但是他在什么地方？我没有看见他。”
“他还没有到。这么说你一切顺利？红衣主教为你赐予他的祝福吗？”
“他的祝福？噢，那没什么，”多米尼季诺走进门来说道，“里瓦雷兹，你就像圣诞节的蛋糕让人称奇不已。你有多少本领可以施展出来让我们叹服呢？”
“现在又怎么啦？”牛虻懒洋洋地问道。他正靠在沙发上，抽着一根雪茄。他仍然穿着朝圣者的衣服，但是白胡子和假发放在身边。
“我没有想到你那么会演戏。我这一辈子还没见过这么精彩的表演。你差不多使主教阁下感动得掉下了眼泪。”
“怎么回事？说来让我们听听，里瓦雷兹。”
牛虻耸了耸肩膀。他处于沉默寡言的心境，其他人看出从他那里打听不出什么东西，于是就央求多米尼季诺讲述事情的经过。讲完了集市上发生的那一幕以后，一位未和别人一起哄笑的年轻工人突然说道：“干得当然非常聪明，但是我看不出这番表演对大家有什么好处。”
“只有一点好处，”牛虻插言说道，“那就是在这个地区，我可以想到哪儿就到哪儿，想干什么就干什么，没有一个男人、女人或者小孩会想到怀疑我。到了明天，这个故事会传遍这个地方。在我遇到一个暗探时，他只会想：‘就是那个疯子迭亚戈，那个在集市忏悔罪行的家伙。’这当然是个有利条件。”
“对，我明白。可是我仍然希望不必愚弄红衣主教就能做成这事。他这人非常善良，不该跟他玩弄这种把戏。”
“我自己也曾觉得他是个正派人。”牛虻懒散地回答。
“桑德罗，你别胡说八道！我们这儿不需要红衣主教！”多米尼季诺说。“蒙泰尼里有机会到罗马任职，如果当时他接受了那个职位，那么里瓦雷兹就不能愚弄他了。”
“他不愿接受那个职位，因为他不想离开他在这儿的工作。”
“更有可能是因为他并不想被兰姆勃鲁契尼手下的暗探毒死。他们对他有些意见，这一点我敢保证。一位红衣主教，特别是这样一位深孚众望的红衣主教，愿意留在这样一个被上帝遗忘的小洞里，我们全都知道这意味着什么——里瓦雷兹，对不对？”
牛虻正在吐着烟圈。“这也许是‘破碎的、痛悔的心’之类的事情，”他说。他随后仰起头来，观察那些烟圈飘散开去。
“好了，伙计们，现在我们就来谈正事吧。”
关于武器的私运和掩藏，已经制定了许多计划。他们开始详细讨论这些计划。牛虻聚精会神地听着，时不时地插上一句，尖锐地纠正一些不正确的说法或者不谨慎的提议。大家发言完毕，他提出了几个切实可行的建议，这些建议大多没有经过讨论就被采纳了。然后会议就结束了。会上决定至少在他平安回到托斯卡纳之前，为了不要引起警察的注意，应尽量避免召开时间太晚的会议。到了十点以后，大家都已散去，只剩下医生、牛虻和多米尼季诺。他们三人开了一个小会，讨论具体的细节。经过长久的激烈争论，多米尼季诺抬头看了一下时钟。
“十一点半了，我们不能再待下去了，否则巡夜人就会发现我们。”
“他什么时候经过？”牛虻问道。
“约在十二点。我想在他到来之前回到家中。晚安，吉奥丹尼。里瓦雷兹，我们一起走吧？”
“不，我看我们还是分开走安全一些。我还要会你一面吗？”
“是的，在卡斯特尔博洛尼斯。我不知道我会扮成什么人，但是你已经知道了暗号。我想你是明天离开这里吧？”
牛虻照着镜子，小心翼翼地戴上胡子和假发。
“明天上午，同那些朝圣者一起走。后天我假装生病，住在牧羊人的小屋里，然后从山中抄近道。我会比你先到。晚安！”
当牛虻朝那个巨大的谷仓门里望去时，大教堂的钟声敲响了十二点。那个谷仓已被空了出来，用以充作招待朝圣者的住处。地上躺着横七竖八的身躯，大多数人都在使劲地打着鼾声，空气污浊，让人难以忍受。他有些发抖，直觉得恶心。想要在这里入睡是不可能的。他还是散会儿步吧，然后找个小棚或者草堆，那里至少干净而又安静。
这是一个美丽的夜晚，一轮满月挂在紫色的天空。他开始漫无目的地在街上游荡，沮丧地想起上午发生的那一幕。他希望当初不该同意多米尼季诺的计划，在布里西盖拉和他会面。如果他一开始就宣布这个计划太危险，那么就会选择另外一个地方。那样他和蒙泰尼里就不会遇上这出可怕的滑稽闹剧。
神父变化多大啊！可是他的声音却一点也没变，还像过去那样。那时他常说：“Carino。”
巡夜人的灯笼出现在街道的那头，牛虻转身走进一条狭窄、弯曲的小巷。走了几码以后，他发现自己来到大教堂广场，靠近主教宫殿的西侧。广场月光满地，周围没有一个人。
但是他注意到大教堂的侧门半掩着。教堂司事一定忘了关上它。这么晚了那里当然不会有什么事。他或许可以走进去，躺在一条长凳上睡觉，从而不用在那个透不过气的谷仓里睡觉。
早晨他可以在教堂司事进来之前溜走。即使被人发现了，他们自然会认为疯子迭亚戈躲在角落里祈祷，然后被关在里面。
他在门口听了一会儿，然后轻轻走了进去。瘸了腿以后，他还是保持了这种走路的姿态。月光透过窗户照了进来，在大理石地面上映出一条条宽阔的光带。特别是在祭坛，月光之下一切都清晰可见。在祭坛的台阶上，蒙泰尼里红衣主教独自跪在那里，紧握双手。
牛虻退到阴影之中。他应该在蒙泰尼里看见他之前走开吗？那样无疑是最明智的——也许还是最慈悲的。可是，只是走近一点——再次看上一眼神父的脸——又有什么坏处呢？既然人群已经散去，那就没有必要继续上午那出丑恶的喜剧。也许这是他最后的机会——神父不必看见他，他可以悄悄走上去，看上一眼——就这一次。然后他就会回去继续他的工作。
他隐在柱子的阴影之中，摸到内殿栏杆跟前，然后停在靠近祭坛的侧门。主教宝座投下的阴影很宽，足以掩住他。他在暗中蹲了下来，屏住了呼吸。
“我可怜的孩子！噢，上帝。我可怜的孩子啊！”
断断续续的低语充满了彻底的绝望，牛虻情不自禁地战栗起来。然后传来低沉、深重、无泪的哭泣，他看见蒙泰尼里挥动双手，肉体好像忍受着剧痛。
他没有想到事情会像这样糟糕。他曾时常痛苦地安慰自己：“我不必为这事感到心烦，那个创伤早就愈合了。”现在，经过这么多年，这个创伤摆在他的面前，他看见它还在流血。
现在治愈它是多么容易啊！他只需抬起手来——只要走上前，说道：“神父，是我。”还有琼玛，她的头上已经出现了白发。
噢，如果他能宽恕就好了！如果他能割断他的记忆，过去的经历已经烙在他的记忆深处——那个拉斯加人、甘蔗园和杂耍班子！当然没有比这更悲惨的事情——愿意宽恕，渴望宽恕；知道那是没有希望的——他不能，也不敢宽恕。
蒙泰尼里最终站了起来，画了一个十字，然后转身离开祭坛。牛虻往后退到阴影中，浑身发抖。他害怕他被看见，然后他释然地松了一口气。蒙泰尼里已经从他身边走过，近到他的紫色法衣拂到了他的面颊。他走过去了，而且没有看见他。
没有看见他——噢，他做了什么？这是他最后的机会——这个宝贵的时刻——而他竟让它失之交臂。他突然站了起来，走进亮处。
“Padre！”
他自己的声音响了起来，然后又沿着拱形的屋顶消失。这个声音使他心中充满了奇异的恐惧。蒙泰尼里站在柱子边，瞪大眼睛听着，心中充满了死亡的恐惧。他猛地一惊，然后醒悟过来。蒙泰尼里开始摇晃起来，好像就要摔倒下去。他的嘴唇动了起来，先是没有发出声音。
“亚瑟！”他的低语终于可以听见。“对，水很深——”
牛虻走上前去。
“主教阁下，请您饶恕我！我还以为是位神父呢。”
“噢，你就是那位朝圣者吗？”蒙泰尼里立即恢复了自制。
他手中的蓝宝石闪闪发光。牛虻看得出来他还在发抖。“我的朋友，你需要什么吗？天已晚了，大教堂晚上要关门的。”
“如果我做错了什么，主教阁下，还请您多多原谅。我看见门开着，所以就进来祈祷。我以为我看见了一位神父在默念，所以我等着请他为我祝福。”
他举起锡造的小十字架，这是从多米尼季诺那里买来的。
蒙泰尼里接了过来，重新走进内殿，把它在祭坛上放了一会儿。
“拿去吧，我的孩子，”他说。“放宽心吧，因为上帝是慈祥的，怜悯的。去罗马吧，请求他的使者圣父为你赐福吧。祝你平安！”
牛虻低头接受祝福，然后转身离去。
“别走！”蒙泰尼里说道。
他站在那里，一只手扶着内殿的栏杆。
“你在罗马接受圣餐时，”他说，“请为一个痛苦深重的人祈祷——在他的心灵上，上帝的手是沉重的。”
他几乎是含着眼泪说出这番话，牛虻的决心发生了动摇。
转瞬之间，他就会暴露自己的身份。可是他又想起了杂耍班子，就像约拿一样，他认为他恨得对。
“我是什么人？上帝会聆听我的祈祷吗？一个麻风病人，一个被遗弃的人！如果我能像主教阁下一样，能在上帝的神座奉献圣洁的一生——奉献一个毫无瑕疵、毫无隐私的灵魂——”
蒙泰尼里突然转过身去。
“我只能奉献一样，”他说，“那就是一颗破碎的心。”
几天以后，牛虻乘坐公共马车从皮斯托亚回到佛罗伦萨。
他直接去了琼玛的寓所，但是她出门了。他留下一张条子，说他第二天上午过来。然后他又回家去了，真诚地希望不会发现绮达侵入了他的书房。她那些带着妒意的责备就像牙医锉刀的声音，如果今晚他还会听到她的责备，他的神经一定会受不了。
“晚安，比安卡。”他在女仆打开房门时说道，“莱尼小姐今天来了吗？”
她茫然地望着他。
“莱尼小姐？先生，这么说她回来了？”
“你这话是什么意思？”他皱着眉头说道，并且站在门口的垫子上。
“她突然出走了，就在你走了以后，把她的东西全都留了下来。她也没说要去什么地方。”
“在我走了以后？什么，两个星期以前吗？”
“是的，先生，就在同一天。她的东西还乱七八糟地放在那儿。左邻右舍都在谈论这事。”
他什么也没说，转身离开门口。他匆忙地穿过小巷，来到绮达的寓所。在她的房间里、什么都没有动过。他送给她的礼物全都放在原来的地方，哪儿都找不到信或字条。
“先生，打扰您一下，”比安卡把头探进门里说道，“有个老太婆——”
他恶狠狠地转过身来。
“你想干什么——竟然跟我到这儿来？”
“一个老太婆想要见你。”
“她想干什么？告诉她我不能—能见她，我忙着呢。”
“自从你走了以后，先生，差不多她每天傍晚都要来的。
她老是问你什么时候回来。”
“问她有什、什么事。不，不用了。我看我还是亲自去吧。”
那个老太婆在他的门厅里等他。她穿得破破烂烂的，棕色的脸庞满是皱纹，就像欧楂果一样。她的头上围裹着一条亮丽的围巾。当他走进来时，她站起身来，瞪着一双黑色的眼睛仔细打量着他。
“你就是那位瘸腿的先生吧，”她说，并且带着挑剔的目光，从头到脚看了他一遍。“我是替绮达·莱尼给你捎个口信的。”
他打开书房的门，然后扶着门让她进去。他跟在后面把门关上，不让比安卡听见他们的谈话。
“请坐。现、现在，告诉我你是谁。”
“我是谁不关你的事。我来是告诉你，绮达已经和我的儿子一起走了。”
“和——你的——儿子？”
“是，先生。如果你有了情人，却不知道如何管住她，那么其他的男人把她带走了以后，你就没有什么可抱怨的。我的儿子是个热血男子，他的血管里流的不是牛奶和水。他可是一个吉卜赛人。”
“噢，你是个吉卜赛人！那么绮达是回到她自己人那里去了？”
她带着惊愕的鄙夷望着他。显然这些基督徒不是血气方刚的男子汉，受到了侮辱竟不生气。
“你是什么坯子做的，她为什么应该和你在一起？我们的女人也许肯把自己借给你们，这是出于姑娘的幻想，或是因为你们会给她们很多钱，但是吉卜赛人终究是要回到吉卜赛人中间的。”
牛虻的脸庞仍旧那么冷漠、平静。
“她是去了一个吉卜赛营地，还是仅仅和你的儿子生活在一起？”
那个女人放声大笑。
“你想去追她，并且企图把她夺回来吗？太晚了，先生。你早就应该想到这一点！”
“不，我只是想知道真相，如果你愿意告诉我的话。”
她耸了耸肩膀，对这事竟然听之任之的人，根本就不值得侮辱。
“哼，真相就是在你走的那天，她在路边遇见了我的儿子。
她用吉卜赛语和他攀谈起来，当他看见她也是我们的人，尽管她穿着华丽的衣裳，他就爱上了她那张漂亮的脸蛋。我们的男人就是这么个爱法。她把烦恼全都告诉了我们，她坐在那里哭个不停，可怜的姑娘，哭得我们都为她感到伤心。我们尽量安慰她，最后她脱下了那身华丽的衣裳，穿上了我们那些姑娘穿的东西，并且把她自己交给了我的儿子。她成了他的女人，他也成了她的男人。他不会对她说‘我不爱你’，或者‘我有别的事要做’。女人年轻时就想要得到男人。你是个什么男人？一个漂亮的姑娘用手搂你的脖子时，你竟不去吻她。”
他打断了她的话。“你说过给我带来了她的口信。”
“对。我们的营地撤走了以后，我留了下来，就是为了给你捎个口信。她让我转告你，她已经厌倦了你们这些人，厌倦了你们的斤斤计较和冷酷无情。她想要回到自己的人那里，自由自在。‘告诉他，’她说，‘我是一个女人，我爱过他。因此我再
收听单词发音 |
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risky
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| adj.有风险的，冒险的 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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chunk
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| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
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swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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cardinals
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| 红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 )； 红衣凤头鸟（见于北美，雄鸟为鲜红色）； 基数 | |
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knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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repentant
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| adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
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brigand
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| n.土匪，强盗 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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galleys
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| n.平底大船，战舰( galley的名词复数 )；（船上或航空器上的）厨房 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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benediction
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| n.祝福；恩赐 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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intruding
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| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的现在分词)；把…强加于 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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contrite
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| adj.悔悟了的，后悔的，痛悔的 | |
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sect
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| n.派别，宗教，学派，派系 | |
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conspirators
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| n.共谋者，阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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laconic
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| adj.简洁的；精练的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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smuggling
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| n.走私 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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inaccurate
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| adj.错误的，不正确的，不准确的 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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lameness
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| n. 跛, 瘸, 残废 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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shred
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| v.撕成碎片，变成碎片；n.碎布条，细片，些少 | |
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trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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