"But apoplexy may kill one in two hours, and aneurism only takes two
minutes."

"True, but ask the Cardinal what he thought of his friend's prolonged
shudders, the leaden hue which overcame his face, the sinking of his
eyes, and the expression of terror which made him quite unrecognisable.
The Cardinal is convinced that Monsignor Gallo was poisoned, because he
was his dearest confidant, the counsellor to whom he always listened, and
whose wise advice was a guarantee of success."

Pierre's bewilderment was increasing, and, irritated by the impassibility
of Santobono, he addressed him direct. "It's idiotic, it's awful! Does
your reverence also believe in these frightful stories?"

But the priest of Frascati gave no sign. His thick, passionate lips
remained closed while his black glowing eyes never ceased to gaze at
Prada. The latter, moreover, was quoting other instances. There was the
case of Monsignor Nazzarelli, who had been found in bed, shrunken and
calcined like carbon. And there was that of Monsignor Brando, struck down
in his sacerdotal vestments at St. Peter's itself, in the very sacristy,
during vespers!

"Ah! /Mon Dieu/!" sighed Pierre, "you will tell me so much that I myself
shall end by trembling, and sha'n't dare to eat anything but boiled eggs
as long as I stay in this terrible Rome of yours."

For a moment this whimsical reply enlivened both the Count and Pierre.
But it was quite true that their conversation showed Rome under a
terrible aspect, for it conjured up the Eternal City of Crime, the city