The Ave Maria was ringing from many church towers, and the golden day
was going down with the sun behind the dark outline of the dome of St.
Peter's, while the blue night was rising over the snow-capped Apennines
in a premature twilight with one twinkling star.
David Rossi's ears buzzed as with the sound of a mighty wind rushing
through trees at a distance. Bruno's last words on top of Charles
Minghelli's had struck him like an alarum bell heard through the mists
of sleep, and his head was stunned and his eyes were dizzy. He buttoned
his coat about him, and walked quickly to and fro on the lead flat by
the side of the cage, in which the birds were already bunched up and
silent.
Before he was aware of the passing of time, the church bells were
tolling the first hour of night. Presently he became aware of flares
burning in the Piazza of St. Peter, and of the shadows of giant heads
cast up on the walls of the vast Basilica. It was the crowd gathering
for the last ceremonial of the Pope's Jubilee, and at the sound of a
double rocket, which went up as with the crackle of musketry, little
Joseph came running on to the roof, followed by his mother and Bruno.
David Rossi took the boy into his arms and tried to dispel the gloom of
his own spirits in the child's joy at the illuminations.
"Ever see 'luminations before, Uncle David?" said Joseph.
"Once, dear, but that was long ago and far away. I was a boy myself in
those days, and there was a little girl with me then who was no bigger
than you are now. But it's growing cold, there's frost in the air,
besides it's late, and little boys must go to bed."
"Well, God is God, and the Pope is His Prophet," said Bruno, when Elena
and Joseph had gone indoors. "It was like day! You could see the
lightning conductor over the Pope's apartment! Pshew!" blowing puffs of
smoke from his twisted cigar. "Won't keep the lightning off, though."
"Bruno!"
"Yes, sir?"
"Donna Roma's father would be Prince Volonna?"
"Yes, the last prince of the old papal name. When the Volonna estates
were confiscated, the title really lapsed, but old Vampire got the
lands."
"Did you ever hear that he bore any other name during the time he was in
exile?"
"Sure to, but there was no trial and nothing was known. They all changed
their names, though."
"Why ... what...." said David Rossi in an unsteady voice.
"Why?" said Bruno. "Because they were all condemned in Italy, and the
foreign countries were told to turn them out. But what am I talking
about? You know all that better than I do, sir. Didn't your old friend
go under a false name?"
"Very likely--I don't know," said David Rossi, in a voice that testified
to jangled nerves.
"Did he ever tell you, sir?"
"I can't say that he ever.... Certainly the school of revolution has
always had villains enough, and perhaps to prevent treachery...."
"You may say so! The devil has the run of the world, even in England.
But I'm surprised your old friend, being like a father to you, didn't
tell you--at the end anyway...."
"Perhaps he intended to--and then perhaps...."
David Rossi put his hand to his brow as if in pain and perplexity, and
began again to walk backward and forward.
A screamer in the piazza below cried "_Trib-un-a!_" and Bruno said:
"That's early! What's up, I wonder? I'll go down and get a paper."
Darkness had by this time re-invaded the sky, and the stars looked down
from their broad dome, clear, sweet, white, and serene, putting to shame
by their immortal solemnity the poor little mimes, the paltry
puppet-shows of the human jackstraws who had just been worshipping at
their self-made shrine.
As David Rossi returned to the house, Elena, who was undressing the boy,
saw a haggard look in his eyes, but Bruno, who was reading his evening
journal, saw nothing, and cried out:
"Helloa! Listen to this, sir. It's Olga. She's got a pen, I can tell
you. 'Madame de Pompadour. Hitherto we have had the pleasure of having
Madame ----, whose pressure on the State and on Italy's wise counsellors
was only incidental, but now that the fates have given us a Madame
Pompadour....' Then there's a leading article on your speech in the
piazza. Praises you up to the skies. Look! 'Thank God we have men like
the Honourable Rossi, who at the risk of....'"
But with a clouded brow David Rossi turned away from him and passed into
the sitting-room, and Bruno looked around in blank bewilderment.
"Shall you want the lamp, sir?" said Elena.
"Not yet, thank you," he answered through the open door.
The wood fire was glowing on the hearth, and in the acute state of his
nerves he shuddered involuntarily as its reflection in the window
opposite looked back at him like a fiery eye. He opened the case of the
phonograph, which had been returned to its place on the piano, and then
from a drawer in the bureau he took a small cardboard box. The wood in
the fire flickered at that moment and started some ghastly shadows on
the ceiling, but he drew a cylinder from the box and slid it on to the
barrel of the phonograph. Then he stepped to the door, shut and locked
it.