He prays and she returns to life and becomes a nun.
No, Messer Diavolo, I am not Paphnutius. I will not maim myself,
nor do I want Carlotta to fall dead; and I cannot pray and effect
a pietistic resurrection. I am simply a fool of a modern man
tempted out of his wits, who scarce knows what it is that he
speaks or writes.
I am not superstitious, but I feel myself to-night on the brink
of some disaster. I walk restlessly about the room. On the
mantel-piece are three photographs in silver frames: Judith,
Carlotta, Pasquale. That which is of mockery in the spirit of
each seems to-night to be hovering round the portraits and to be
making sport of me. An autumn gale is howling among the trees
outside, like a legion of lost souls. Listen. Messer Diavolo
himself might be riding by with a whoop of derision.
CHAPTER XV
October 26th.
I knew something would happen. Messer Diavolo does not ride
whooping to no purpose by the windows of people whom he desires
to torment; nor does he inspire photographs for nothing with an
active spirit of mockery.
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