"Tell me," said he, "do you know who painted that old picture? It stirs
me to the soul like a masterpiece."

Stupefied by this unexpected question, the secretary raised his head and
looked, feeling yet more astonished when he had examined the blackened,
forsaken panel in its sorry frame.

"Where did it come from?" resumed Pierre; "why has it been stowed away in
this room?"

"Oh!" replied Don Vigilio, with a gesture of indifference, "it's nothing.
There are heaps of valueless old paintings everywhere. That one, no
doubt, has always been here. But I don't know; I never noticed it
before."

Whilst speaking he had at last risen to his feet, and this simple action
had brought on such a fit of shivering that he could scarcely take leave,
so violently did his teeth chatter with fever. "No, no, don't show me
out," he stammered, "keep the lamp here. And to conclude: the best course
is for you to leave yourself in the hands of Monsignor Nani, for he, at
all events, is a superior man. I told you on your arrival that, whether
you would or not, you would end by doing as he desired. And so what's the
use of struggling? And mind, not a word of our conversation to-night; it
would mean my death."

Then he noiselessly opened the doors, glanced distrustfully into the
darkness of the passage, and at last ventured out and disappeared,
regaining his own room with such soft steps that not the faintest
footfall was heard amidst the tomb-like slumber of the old mansion.