"She knows that Antonio was the assassin of my poor cousin; she knows, also, that the two Italians were together in their flight, that they perished together. I hope the unspeakable horror which the man's report contains for us will ever remain a secret." "She doesn't believe in the son?" "Not at all! It is as if God in his mercy had blinded in this direction her otherwise clear vision. She considers the whole matter a fabrication, a downright lie of Giraldi's. You can imagine, Mr. President, that we uphold her in her belief, and are grateful to fate even for that reason which swallows up in its depths what should never have seen the light of day." "Of course, of course!" said the President; "that is a consolation withal. The unhappy woman has really already suffered enough. Toward your poor uncle fate has been less gracious. It is dreadful to lose such a daughter, so fair and so highly endowed. But for a man such as your uncle must be, to judge from all I have heard of his generosity, his sense of honor, to be pursued by the ghost of a son who is followed wherever he goes by warrants and bailiffs--against that, I think, no magnanimity and no philosophy can avail--that is pitilessly horrible, without the slightest breath of atonement! Such suffering, even time, which is almighty in other things, cannot diminish; here death alone can bring relief--but the man will take good care not to die." "I don't know," said Reinhold. "He is from a family which does not fear death; however differently the unfortunate man may look at life, I can easily imagine that even to him the question comes in a form which he understands, and that he will then not hesitate a moment in forming his decision."