Lorenzo followed, leaving Antonio with his friend Benevole and the horses, and the prior conducted him through a wide court, past the church, and through the cloister-court to a suite of apartments which spoke more the habits of a somewhat luxurious literary man than a severe ecclesiastic. "These are, by right," said the prior, "the apartments of the abbot; but an election, as it is called, has not been held for some years, and may not, perhaps, till a new pope blesses the Church. Pray be seated, my lord. I see you are impatient," he added, closing the door, and looking round to assure himself that what he said could not be overheard. "Set your mind at rest. She for whom I know you feel the deepest interest has not been injured." "But is she free? Have not those men carried her off, as they did others?" exclaimed Lorenzo, in as much impatience as ever. "She is safe--she is in no danger," replied the prior; "let that suffice you for the present. If you proposed to follow those daring, wicked men to rescue her from their hands, the attempt would have been madness and without object, for she is not with them." "Let me be sure that we speak of the same person," said Lorenzo, still unsatisfied. "Of the Signorina Leonora d'Orco," replied the monk. "Thank God! oh, thank God!" exclaimed Lorenzo, with a deep sigh. "And Mona Francesca?" he asked, after a pause; "you have said nothing of her fate, reverend father." "Alas! my son," replied the prior, "her fate has been perhaps less happy, perhaps more so than that of her younger and fairer companion. It will be as God's grace is granted to her. Let us speak no more of this. Have you anything else to ask?" "Simply this," replied Lorenzo; "you are doubtless aware, father, as you seem to have full knowledge of my relations with the Signora d'Orco, that she is my promised wife, with the full consent of her father and the blessing of the good Cardinal Julian de Rovera. It is absolutely necessary that I should see her, and see her speedily, as I am obliged to rejoin his Majesty of France at an early hour to-morrow." "I fear, my son, that is not possible," said the prior; but the door opened to admit some of the _servitory_ of the monastery bearing more than one kind of food and wine, and the good monk stopped suddenly in his reply. As soon as the refreshments had been spread on a small stone table, and the room was again clear, he pressed Lorenzo to take some meat and wine, saying, "I can speak to you while you eat, my son." Lorenzo seated himself at the table, and, before he ate anything, filled the large silver goblet with wine, and drank it off. The mind was more depressed by anxiety than the body by fatigue. The monk watched him; for, removed as he was from much active participation in the world's affairs, he had long been a spectator of the great tragedy of human life, and comprehended at once, by slight indications, what was passing in the shadow of the bosoms around him.