Moretti gave a gesture of impatience and contempt.  Cyrillon noted it, and his dark eyes flashed, but he went on steadily,—­

“And then I saw her die—­she stretched her poor thin hard-working hands out to God, and over and over again she muttered and moaned in her fever the refrain of an old peasant song we have in Touraine, ‘Oh, la tristesse d’avoir aime!’ If you had heard her—­if you had seen her—­if you had, or have a heart to feel, nerves to wrench, a brain to rack, blood to be stung to frenzy, you would,—­seeing your mother perish thus,—­have thought, that to kill the man who had made such a wreck of a sweet pure life, would be a just, aye even a virtuous deed!  I thought so.  But my intended vengeance was frustrated—­whether by the act of God, who can say?  But the conduct of the man whom I am now proud to call my father—­”

“You have great cause for pride!” said Moretti sarcastically.

“I think I have”—­said the young man, “In the close extremity of death at my hands, he won my respect.  He shall keep it.  It will be my glory now to show him what a son’s love and pardon may be.  If it be true as I understand, that he is attacked by a disease which needs must be fatal, his last hours will not be desolate!  It may be that I shall give him more comfort than Churches,—­more confidence than Creeds!  It may be that the clasp of my hand in his may be a better preparation for his meeting with God,—­and my mother,—­than the touch of the Holy Oils in Extreme Unction!”

“Like all your accursed sect, you blaspheme the Sacraments”—­ interrupted Moretti indignantly—­“And in the very presence of one of her chiefest Cardinals, you scorn the Church!”

Cyrillon gave a quick gesture of emphatic denial.

“Monsignor, I do not scorn the Church,—­but I think that honesty and fair dealing with one another is better than any Church!  Christ had no Church.  He built no temples, He amassed no wealth,—­He preached simply to those who would hear Him under the arching sky,—­in the open air!  He prophesied the fall of temples; ‘In this place,’ He said, ‘is One greater than the temple.’ [Footnote:  Matt. xii. v. 6.] He sought to destroy long built-up hypocrisies.  ’My house is called the house of prayer, but ye have made it a den of thieves.’  Thieves, not only of gold, but of honour!—­thieves of the very Gospel, which has been tampered with and twisted to suit the times, the conditions and opinions of varying phases of priestcraft.  Who that has read, and thought, and travelled and studied the manuscripts hidden away in the old monasteries of Armenia and Syria, believes that the Saviour of the world ever condescended to ‘pun’ on the word Petrus, and say, ‘On this Rock (or stone) I will build my Church,’ when He already knew that He had to deal with a coward who would soon deny Him?”

“Enough!  I will hear no further!” cried Moretti, turning livid with fury—­“Cardinal Bonpre, I appeal to you . . .”