The greatest
part of the room along its whole length was covered with matting
and had nothing else but a long, narrow leather-upholstered bench
fixed to the wall. And that was all. And the door leading to the
studio was locked. And Therese had the key. And it flashed on my
mind, independently of Dona Rita's pessimism, by the force of
personal conviction, that, of course, Therese would tell him. I
beheld the whole succession of events perfectly connected and
tending to that particular conclusion. Therese would tell him! I
could see the contrasted heads of those two formidable lunatics
close together in a dark mist of whispers compounded of greed,
piety, and jealousy, plotting in a sense of perfect security as if
under the very wing of Providence. So at least Therese would
think. She could not be but under the impression that
(providentially) I had been called out for the rest of the night.
And now there was one sane person in the house, for I had regained
complete command of my thoughts. Working in a logical succession
of images they showed me at last as clearly as a picture on a wall,
Therese pressing with fervour the key into the fevered palm of the
rich, prestigious, virtuous cousin, so that he should go and urge
his self-sacrificing offer to Rita, and gain merit before Him whose
Eye sees all the actions of men.
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