countenance of the Unknown, on which the traces of tears were still visible; and glancing at that of the cardinal, he perceived, through its wonted calmness, an expression of great satisfaction, mingled with extraordinary solicitude. He was roused from the astonishment which the contemplation excited, by a question of the cardinal, if, among the curates in the hall, "there was one from * * *?"
"There is, most illustrious lord," replied the chaplain.
"Bring him hither immediately," said Frederick, "and with him, the curate of this parish."
The chaplain obeyed, and went to the hall where the priests were assembled. All eyes were turned towards him. He cried aloud, "His most illustrious and reverend lordship asks for the curate of this parish and the curate of * * *."
The former advanced immediately, and at the same time was heard, amidst the crowd, a me? uttered in a tone of surprise.
"Are you not the curate of * * *?" said the chaplain.
"Certainly; but"
"His most illustrious and reverend lordship asks for you."
"Me?" replied he, and Don Abbondio advanced from the crowd with an air of amazement and anxiety. The chaplain led the way, and introduced them both to the presence of the cardinal.
The cardinal let go the hand of the Unknown as they entered, and taking the curate of the parish aside, related in few words the facts of the story, asking him if he knew some kind female, who would be willing to go to the castle in a litter, to remove Lucy thence; a devoted, charitable woman, capable of acting with judgment in so novel an expedition, and of exerting the best means to tranquillise the poor girl, to whom deliverance itself, after such anguish and alarm, might produce new and overwhelming apprehensions. After having reflected a moment, the curate took upon himself the affair, and departed. The cardinal then ordered the chaplain to have a litter prepared, and two mules ready saddled. The chaplain quitted the room to obey his orders, and the cardinal was
