Varillo held the same kind look of compassion in his eyes.  He was fond of telling his fellow-artists that he had a “plastic” face,—­ and this quality served him well just now.  He might have been a hero and martyr, from the peaceful and patient expression of his features, and he so impressed by his manner a lay-brother who presently entered to give him his evening meal, that he succeeded in getting rid of Ambrosio altogether.

“You are sure you are strong enough to be left without an attendant?” asked the lay-brother solicitously, quite captivated by the gentleness of his patient.  “There is a special evening service to-night in the chapel, and Ambrosio should be there to play the organ—­for he plays well—­but this duty had been given to Fra Filippo—­”

“Nay, but let Ambrosio fulfil his usual task,” said Varillo considerately.  “I am much better—­much stronger,—­and as my good friend Monsignor Gherardi desires me to be in Rome to-morrow, and to stay with him till I am quite restored to health, I must try to rest as quietly as I can till my hour of departure.”

“You must be a great man to have Domenico Gherardi for a friend!” said the lay-brother wistfully.

Here Ambrosio suddenly burst into a loud laugh.

“You are right!  He is a great man!—­one of the greatest in Rome, or for that matter in the world!  And he means to be yet greater!” And with that he turned on his heel and left the cell abruptly.

Varillo, languidly sipping the wine that had been brought to him with his food, looked after him with a pitying smile.

“Poor soul!” he said gently.

“He was famous once,” said the lay-brother, lowering his voice as he spoke.  “One of the most famous sculptors in Europe.  But something went wrong with his life, and he came here.  It is difficult to make him understand orders, or obey them, but the Superior allows him to remain on account of his great skill in music.  On that point at least he is sane.”

“Indeed!” said Varillo indifferently.  He was beginning to weary of the conversation, and wished to be alone.  “It is well for him that he is useful to you in some regard.  And now, my friend, will you leave me to rest awhile?  If it be possible I shall try to sleep now till morning.”

“One of us will come to you at daybreak,” said the lay-brother.  “You are still very weak—­you will need assistance to dress.  Your clothes are here at the foot of the bed.  I hope you will sleep well.”

“Thank you!” said Varillo, conveying an almost tearful look of gratitude into his eyes—­“You are very good to me!  God bless you!”

The lay-brother made a gentle deprecatory gesture of his hands and retired, and Varillo was left to his own reflections.  He lay still, thinking deeply, and marvelling at the unexpected rescue out of his difficulties so suddenly afforded him.

“With Gherardi to support me, I can say anything!” he mused, his heart beating quickly and exultingly.  “I can say anything and swear anything!  And even if the sheath of my dagger has been found, it will be no proof, for I can say it is not mine.  Any lie I choose to tell will have Gherardi’s word to warrant it!—­so I am safe—­unless Angela speaks!”