"Well!--what news?"

Calabressa laughed slightly; and went to a cupboard, and brought forth a
bottle and two small glasses.

"If you were Zaccatelli," he said, "I would say to you, 'My Lord,' or
'Your Excellency,' or whatever they call those flamingoes with the
bullet heads, 'I would advise you to take a little drop of this very
excellent cognac, for you are about to hear something, and you will need
steady nerves.' Meanwhile, Brother Lind, it is not forbidden to you and
me to have a glass. The Council provide excellent liquor."

"Thank you, I have no need of it," said Lind, coldly. "What do you mean
about Zaccatelli?"

"This," said the other, filling himself out a glass of the brandy, and
then proceeding to prepare a cigarette. "If the moral scene of the
country, too long outraged, should determine to punish the Starving
Cardinal, I believe he will get a good year's notice to prepare for his
doom. You perceive? What harm does sudden death to a man? It is nothing.
A moment of pain; and you have all the happiness of sleep, indifference,
forgetfulness. That is no punishment at all: do you perceive?"

Calabressa continued, airily--

"People are proud when they say they do not fear death. The fools! What
has any one to fear in death? To the poor it means no more hunger, no
more imprisonment, no more cold and sickness, no more watching of your
children when they are suffering and you cannot help; to the rich it
means no more triumph of rivals, and envy, and jealousy; no more