"Give me your hand--quick--just a moment,"
the Gadfly whispered. "Oh, what difference does
it make to you? Only one minute!"
He sank down, hiding his face on Montanelli's
arm, and quivering from head to foot.
"Drink a little water," Montanelli said after a
moment. The Gadfly obeyed silently; then lay
back on the pallet with closed eyes. He himself
could have given no explanation of what had happened
to him when Montanelli's hand had touched
his cheek; he only knew that in all his life there
had been nothing more terrible.
Montanelli drew his chair closer to the pallet
and sat down. The Gadfly was lying quite motionless,
like a corpse, and his face was livid and
drawn. After a long silence, he opened his eyes,
and fixed their haunting, spectral gaze on the Cardinal.
"Thank you," he said. "I--am sorry. I think
--you asked me something?"
"You are not fit to talk. If there is anything
you want to say to me, I will try to come again
to-morrow."
"Please don't go, Your Eminence--indeed,
there is nothing the matter with me.
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