And he brought his fist down with a fierce blow on the papers before him.

“The marriage should never take place!” echoed Gherardi, “How could you prevent it?”

“The Pope himself should intervene!” said Moretti, with increasing fury, losing a little of his self-control, “Gran Dio!  Conceive for a moment the wealth of the Hermensteins being used to promulgate the reformer Leigh’s threadbare theories, and feed his rascal poor!  Do you know what Sylvie Hermenstein’s fortune is?  No, I suppose you do not!  But I do!  She tries to keep it a secret, but I have made it my business to find out!  It is enormous!—­and it is ever increasing.  With all the fanciful creature’s clothes and jewels and unthinking way of living her life, she spends not a quarter, nor half a quarter of her income,—­and yet you actually venture to suggest that her power is so slight over the man who is now her promised husband, that she would voluntarily allow him to use all that huge amount of money as he pleased, outside the Church?”

Moretti spoke with such passionate insistence that Gherardi thought it prudent not to irritate him further by argument.  So he merely said,

“You expect her to persuade him to embrace our faith?”

“Naturally!” answered Moretti, “And she can, and will do so.  If she cannot or will not, she must be made to do so!”

He bent over his papers again and rustled them impatiently, but his hand trembled.  The pale December sunlight glittered through a stained-glass window above him, and cast deep violet rays about his chair,—­Gherardi stood where the same luminance touched his pale face with a crimson glow as of fire.

“This is a busy morning with us,” said Moretti, without looking up, “The excommunication of Denis Vergniaud will be pronounced to-day,—­ and, what is even more important,—­Cardinal Bonpre is summoned by His Holiness’s command to wait upon him this afternoon, bringing the boy,—­that boy who is always with him—­”

“Ah, there is a history there!” interrupted Gherardi, “It should be remembered that this boy was a witness of the miracle in Rouen, and he was also present at the Vergniaud scandal in Paris—­he should have been sent for ere now.  He, more than anyone, must surely know how the miracle was accomplished,—­for the worthy Felix tells me he is ’wise beyond his years’!”

“So!  His wisdom will be put to the test to-day!” said Moretti coldly, “Do you not think it strange”—­here he raised his eyes from his papers, “and somewhat incriminating too—­always supposing the miracle is a case of conspiracy—­that no trace has been discovered of the man Claude Cazeau?”

Gherardi had moved to a book-case, and was standing close to it, turning over a vellum-bound manuscript.

“Yes—­the whole business looks as black as murder!” he said.

Moretti looked at him sharply.

“Murder?  You suppose—­”