through the mists of drink and the imbecility of his dulled brain, as it was hurled from bis hearer's lips; an agony was in it such as mere grief never spoke yet. The Umbrian, sobered by it for the moment, shuddered and strove to rise, looking about him with blind, terrified eyes.
"What have I said? What have I done?" he muttered, piteously. "Ah, Jesu! Monsignore—Monsignore!"
And with that last dread name on his lips he fell back stupefied, rocking himself to and fro, and sobbing like a child.
Erceldoune neither saw nor heard him; he stood like a statue, his hands clenched, his face dyed crimson, the black veins swollen on his forehead and his throat, his breath caught in savage» stifled gasps, his bared chest heaving like the flanks of a snared animal.
"To-night!—to-night!"
The words rattled in his chest with a curse that would have chilled even the bold blood of his mighty rival.
The Umbrian sat motionless, staring at him with distended, senseless eyes; he was filled with a great terror, but the terror was vague, and his mind seemed to swim in vapour. Erceldoune cast one
