“Still,” he added, “abuse is one thing and perversion of fact is another. When you stated, in answer to my sermon, that I knew the identity of the anonymous writer, you made a mistake,--I do not accuse you of wilful falsehood,--and stated what was untrue. I am to this day quite ignorant of his name.” The Gadfly put his head on one side, like an intelligent robin, looked at him for a moment gravely, then suddenly threw himself back and burst into a peal of laughter. “S-s-sancta simplicitas! Oh, you, sweet, innocent, Arcadian people--and you never guessed! You n-never saw the cloven hoof?” Montanelli stood up. “Am I to understand, Signor Rivarez, that you wrote both sides of the controversy yourself?” “It was a shame, I know,” the Gadfly answered, looking up with wide, innocent blue eyes. “And you s-s-swallowed everything whole; just as if it had been an oyster. It was very wrong; but oh, it w-w-was so funny!” Montanelli bit his lip and sat down again. He had realized from the first that the Gadfly was trying to make him lose his temper, and had resolved to keep it whatever happened; but he was beginning to find excuses for the Governor's exasperation. A man who had been spending two hours a day for the last three weeks in interrogating the Gadfly might be pardoned an occasional swear-word. “We will drop that subject,” he said quietly. “What I wanted to see you for particularly is this: My position here as Cardinal gives me some voice, if I choose to claim my privilege, in the question of what is to be done with you. The only use to which I should ever put such a privilege would be to interfere in case of any violence to you which was not necessary to prevent you from doing violence to others. I sent for you, therefore, partly in order to ask whether you have anything to complain of,--I will see about the irons; but perhaps there is something else,--and partly because I felt it right, before giving my opinion, to see for myself what sort of man you are.” “I have nothing to complain of, Your Eminence. 'A la guerre comme a la guerre.' I am not a schoolboy, to expect any government to pat me on the head for s-s-smuggling firearms onto its territory. It's only natural that they should hit as hard as they can. As for what sort of man I am, you have had a romantic confession of my sins once. Is not that enough; or w-w-would you like me to begin again?” “I don't understand you,” Montanelli said coldly, taking up a pencil and twisting it between his fingers. “Surely Your Eminence has not forgotten old Diego, the pilgrim?” He suddenly changed his voice and began to speak as Diego: “I am a miserable sinner------” The pencil snapped in Montanelli's hand. “That is too much!” he said. The Gadfly leaned his head back with a soft little laugh, and sat watching while the Cardinal paced silently up and down the room.