Читать книгу Fabiola; Or, The Church of the Catacombs онлайн

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“One way, however, is easy.”

“What is that?”

“In my country there are large birds, which you may attempt in vain to run down with the fleetest horses; but which, if you look about for them quietly, are the first to betray themselves, for they only hide their heads.”

“What do you wish to represent by this?”

“The Christians. Is there not going to be a persecution of them soon?”

“Yes, and a most fierce one; such as has never been before.”

“Then follow my advice. Do not tire yourself with hunting them down, and catching, after all, but mean prey; keep your eyes open and look about for one or two good fat ones, half trying to conceal themselves; pounce upon them, get a good share of their confiscation, and come with one good handful to get two in return.”

“Thank you, thank you; I understand you. You are not fond of these Christians, then?”

“Fond of them? I hate the entire race. The spirits which I worship are the deadly enemies of their very name.” And she grinned horrible a ghastly smile as she proceeded: “I suspect one of my fellow-servants is one. Oh, how I detest her!”