“Curse you!” he said thickly--“You are the cause--you--you are the cause of this damned mischief! You!--God!--to think of it!--you devil’s spawn!--you cur!” His voice failed him, and he reeled heavily against the sturdy form of one of the warders who held him--his lips were flecked with blood and foam. Shocked and appalled, no less at his words, than at the fiendish contortion of his features, the King drew near. “Curse not a fellow-mortal, unhappy priest, in thine own passage towards the final judgment!” he said in grave accents--“The blessing of this poor misguided creature may help thee more than even a king’s free pardon!” And he extended his hand;--but with all the force of his now struggling and convulsed body, Del Fortis beat it back, and raised himself by an almost superhuman effort. “Pardon! Who talks of pardon!” he cried, with a strong voice--“I do not need it--I do not seek it! I have worked for the Church--I die for the Church! For every one that says ‘The King!’--I say, ‘Rome’!” He drew himself stiffly upright; his dark eyes glittered; his face, though deadly pale, scarcely looked like the face of a dying man. “I say, ‘Rome’!” he repeated, in a harsh whisper;--“Over all the world!--over all the kingdoms of the world, and in defiance of all kings--‘Rome’!” He fell back,--not dead,--but insensible, in the stupor which precedes death;--and was quickly borne out of the cell and carried to the prison infirmary, there to receive medical aid, though that could only now avail to soothe the approaching agonies of dissolution. The King stood mute and motionless, lost in thought, a heavy darkness brooding on his features. How strange the impulse that had led him to be the mover and witness of this scene! By merest chance he had learned that Del Fortis had applied for permission to ‘confess’ the would-be destroyer of his life,--the life which Lotys had saved,--and acting--as he had lately accustomed himself to do--on a sudden first idea or instinct, he had summoned General Bernhoff to escort him to the prison, and make the way easy for him to watch and overhear the interview between priest and penitent,--himself unobserved. And from so slight an incident had sprung a tragedy,--which might have results as yet undreamed-of! And while he yet mused upon this, General Bernhoff ventured respectfully to approach him, and ask if it was now his pleasure to return to the Palace? He roused himself,--and with a heavy sigh looked round on the damp and dismal cell in which he stood, and at the crouching, fear-stricken form of the semi-crazed and now violently weeping lad who had attempted his life. “Take that poor wretch away from here!” he said in hushed tones--“Give him light, and warmth, and food! His evil desires spring from an unsound brain;--I would have him dealt with mercifully! Guard him with all necessary and firm restraint,--but do not brutalise his body more than Rome has brutalised his soul!”