"Comfort yourself," said the other. "I shall make a full measure of it! It shall bubble and sparkle to the brim like a goblet of Cyprian. Know you the wine, monk? A cool fragrant liquid, that gurgles down the arid throat and brings visions of green meadows and sparkling brooks--" "I ask no mercy," cried the monk, falling on his knees and stretching out his lean arms. "Only make an end of it--of this hellish torment." "Torment?" came the voice from above. "What torment is there in the vision of the wine cup--or, for that matter, a feast on groaning tables under the trees? Are you not rich in experiences, Barnabo,--both of the board and of love? Remember the hours when she lay in your arms, innocent, save of original sin? Ah! Could she see you now, Barnabo--how you have changed! No more the elegant courtier that wooed Theodora ere despair drove you to don the penitential garb and, like Balaam's ass, to raise your voice and prophesy! Deem you--as fate has thrown her into these arms of mine--memory will revive the forgotten joys of the days of long ago?" "Mercy--demon!" gasped the monk. His swollen throat could hardly shape the words. Basil laughed and bent lower. "Answer me then--you who boast of being inspired from above--you who listen to the music of the spheres in the dead watches of the night--tell me then, you man of God--how long am I to live?" "Monster, relieve me of your sight!" shrieked the unhappy wretch. "It is the light," mocked Basil. "The light from above. Raise your voice, monk, and prophesy. You who would hurl the anathema upon Basil, the Grand Chamberlain, who arrogated to yourself the mission to purge the universe and to summon me--me--before the tribunal of the Church--tell me, you, who aspired to take to his bed the spouse of the devil, till the white lightnings of her passion seared and blasted your carcass,--tell me--how long am I to live?" An inarticulate shriek came from within. "By justice--till the dead rise from their graves." "Live forever--on an empty phrase?" Basil mocked. "Are you, too, provisioned for eternity?" He held out his hand as if he were offering the starving wretch food. The monk fell on his knees. His lips moved, but no sound was audible. "Perchance he hath a vision," Basil turned to Maraglia who stood sullenly by. "Oh, dull this living agony." "How long am I to live?" "Now, hear me, God," screamed the monk. "Let not this man ever again know surcease from torment in bed, at board, in body or in mind. Let his lust devour him, let the worm burrow in his entrails, the maggot in his brain! May death seize and damnation wither him at the moment when he is nearest the achievement of his fondest hopes!" Basil screamed him down. An uncontrollable terror had seized him. "Silence, beast, or I shall strangle you!" "Libertine, traitor, assassin--may heaven's lightnings blast you--" For a moment the two battled in a war of screeching blasphemy.