The disciple had become calm, and his tears were dry. Raising himself, and fixing scrutinising eyes on the Master, he shook his head.
'No; it was not Cesare. 'Twas I myself. And yet no; it was not I, but _he_.'
Giovanni again trembled, and pressed closer to his friend. 'No, no! For God's sake let us not speak of _him_!'
'Listen, my son,' answered Leonardo, in that soothing yet severe and almost rough tone in which a doctor speaks to a sick child; 'I see you have a weight upon your heart. You must tell me all; all, do you hear? Thus only shall I be able to help you;' and after a pause he added: 'Tell me of whom you spoke just now.'
Giovanni looked round as if in fear; then whispered in low, awestruck tones:--
'My Semblance? How mean you? Did you see it in a dream?'
For a moment Leonardo thought him delirious.
'Messer Leonardo, three nights ago you, yourself, came to me as you have come to-night?'
'No, I did not come. Why do you ask? Can you not remember yourself?'
'I do remember. Master, now I am certain it was _he_!'
'But what has given you this idea? What happened?' He felt that Giovanni wished to speak, and sought to force him to do so, in the hope it would afford him relief.
'This is what happened. Three nights ago he came to me as you have come to-day at this very hour, and he sat on the edge of the bed as you do now, and in every word, in every motion he was as you; and his face was like yours, only as if seen in a glass, nor was he, like you, left-handed, so I thought at once within myself, perchance it was not you; and he knew my thought, yet dissembled and made no sign, but pretended that we both knew naught. Only on leaving he turned himself round to me and said: "Hast thou never, Giovanni, seen that one in my likeness? If so be thou dost see him, be not at all afraid." And from his saying this I understood all.'
'And you still believe this, my poor boy?'
'How should I not believe it, when I saw him as now I see you? Ay, and he spoke with me!'
Giovanni covered his face with his hands, and did not answer at once.
'It was not good,' he said at last in deprecating tones; 'he said terrible things to me. He said that there was nothing in the world but Mechanics--things like that terrible spider with the bloody revolving arms, which he--no, not he--which _you_ have invented.'