Valentine gazed pleadingly into her husband's face. All her fear had left her. She was calm now and resolved. She had proposed the trip to Rome, the project of aiding the Viscount, and she did not wish to recoil from taking a single step that might be beneficial to Giovanni and Zuleika. She said, bravely: "Do not send me from you, Maximilian! I will be stout-hearted and courageous! I am not afraid of this poor young man now, maniac though he be! Perhaps I may be able to help you in dealing with him, for a woman's wit and tenderness, they say, can sometimes subdue and pacify those whose minds are disordered when all a man's efforts have failed."
Maximilian looked at her lovingly and admiringly.
"So be it, Valentine," he replied, much affected. "You shall remain with me and we will face the trial together!"
His wife's eyes expressed her satisfaction at this display of confidence; she simply grasped her husband's hand, but though she uttered not a word the warm pressure she gave it spoke volumes.
M. Morrel turned to the cicerones, who were waiting in silent bewilderment.
"Take us to this maniac without an instant's delay!" he said.
The guides exchanged glances, shook their heads as if in protest and again began making the sign of the cross. Maximilian was compelled to repeat his command somewhat sternly and imperatively before they made a movement to obey it; then very reluctantly they motioned their patrons to follow them and took the lead, muttering prayers to the Blessed Virgin.
The little party quitted the sombre gallery and made their way into the open air. After they had gone about twenty yards the guides came to an abrupt halt and one of them pointed to the centre of the vast gladiatorial arena.
"Look, signor!" he said to M. Morrel. "There stands the maniac of the Colosseum!"
Maximilian and Valentine peered quickly and anxiously in the direction indicated but saw nothing.
"There, signor!" repeated the cicerone, still pointing.
Then, all of a sudden, Maximilian and Valentine beheld the figure of a man standing as motionless as a statue beside a vast fragment of stone. The moonlight fell full upon a manly, noble form, revealing a handsome countenance that might have belonged to one of the old Roman gods. The man's dress was in picturesque disorder and on his bare head was a crown of ivy leaves. In one hand he held a tall staff, while the other was lifted menacingly.
"Hark!" said one of the guides, with a shudder. "He is cursing!"
M. and Mme. Morrel listened, horror-stricken, filled with a nameless dread. A faint, but distinct murmur reached them, gradually swelling in volume. It was a fierce, bitter malediction, full of intense, burning hatred, seeming to embrace God, man and the entire universe in its scope.