Slinkingly he stole from the house in the Strada di Porta Sisi, and hurried to the Cardinal’s palace.  His mind seemed to reel, and a cold sweat broke out all over him as he rang the bell at the top of the great stone stair of the Legate’s dwelling.

This business that he was now here for—­those high honours which were about to be lavished upon him—­would they not all make his position so much the worse?  The higher he stood, would not his fall be the more terrible?  What would be said or thought of him?  At Rome, immediately after the high distinction shown him, what would they not say?  Here, in Ravenna, how should he look his fellow-citizens in the face?  Impossible, impossible.  Could he venture even to accept the high distinction offered to him?  Would there not be something dishonourable—­a sort of treachery in suffering this mark of the Holy Father’s special favour to be bestowed upon him, while he was meditating to do that which, if his intention were known, would make it quite impossible that any such honour should be conferred on him?

And how fair was life before him, as it would be if only this fatal woman had never crossed his path?  And was it not even yet in his own power to make it equally fair again?  Was it not sufficient for him to will that it should be so?

What if he never saw Bianca again?  What could avail any nonsense she or her pretended father might talk of him?  If they were to declare on the house-tops that he had promised marriage to La Lalli, what human being in all the city would believe them?  The very notion that such a thing could be possible would be treated as the impudent invention of people who clearly had not the smallest knowledge of the man they were attempting to practise on.  No, he had but to will it to be free.  If only he could will it.

And with these thoughts passing through his mind he entered the receiving-room of the Legate.

It was impossible to be received more cordially than he was by that high dignitary.  His Eminence felt sure that his old acquaintance and highly-valued good friend the Marchese was aware how great his (the Cardinal’s) pleasure had been in discharging the duty that had devolved upon him.  The letter he had that morning received from the Cardinal Secretary was a most flattering one.  Perhaps he (the Cardinal) might take some credit to himself for having performed a friend’s part, as was natural, in keeping them at Rome well acquainted with the singular merits of the Marchese.  He would, indeed, have been neglecting his duty if he had done otherwise.

Then, after alluding lightly and gracefully to the special interest he could not but feel, in his private capacity, in any honour which tended yet more highly to distinguish a family with which he trusted his own might at no distant day be allied, he told the Marchese that it was probable that nothing would be done in the matter till after Easter.