Deep silence reigned, and Pierre, quite upset by his reflections, made a gesture of despair whilst glancing at Don Vigilio, who sat speechless in front of him. For a moment longer, amidst the death-like quiescence of that old sleeping mansion, both continued silent, seated face to face in the closed chamber which the lamp illumined with a peaceful glow. But at last Don Vigilio leant forward, his eyes sparkling, and with a feverish shiver murmured: “It is they, you know, always they, at the bottom of everything.”
Pierre, who did not understand, felt astonished, indeed somewhat anxious at such a strange remark coming without any apparent transition. “Who are they?” he asked.
“The Jesuits!”
In this reply the little, withered, yellow priest had set all the concentrated rage of his exploding
