Above him, in the dim light, a large portrait of the King was dimly
visible.
He did not at once raise his head--heavy with conscious power--from
the newspaper. He raised it when he felt inclined to do so, and looked
carelessly at this atom of the people who stood before him.
"Be seated," he said in a frigid tone.
Benedetto obeyed.
"You are Signor Maironi?"
"Yes, sir."
"I am sorry to have troubled you, but it was necessary."
There was harshness and sarcasm underlying the Signor Commendatore's
courteous words.
"By the way," he said, "why are you not called by your real name?"
Benedetto did not answer this unexpected question at once.
"Well, well," his interlocutor continued. "It is not of much importance
at present. We are not in a court of justice. I hold that if one is
going to do good, it is best to do it in one's own name. But then I do
not go to church, and my views differ from yours. However, as I said
before, it is of no importance. Do you know who I am? Did the _delegato_
tell you?"
"No, sir."
"Very well, then; I am a functionary of the State, who takes some
interest in the public security, and who has a certain amount of power--
yes, a certain amount of power.
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