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So what do you think of the Blood of Christ in him； that it has somehow retained its magical power； despite the engine of his heart that devours the blood of mortals as if it were mere air that he breathed ？〃
I didn't answer。 I thought quietly in my soul。 It was not the bread and the wine； it was His Blood； His Sacred Blood and He gave it on the road to Calvary； and to this being who lies here。
I swallowed hard on my grief and my fury that she had made me mit myself in these terms。 I wanted to look back for my poor Sybelle and Benji； for I knew by their scent they were still in the room。
Why didn't Marius take them away！ Oh； but it was plain enough。 Marius wanted to see what I meant to do。
〃Don't tell me；〃 Gabrielle said slurringly； 〃that it's a matter of faith。〃 She sneered and shook her head。 〃You e like doubting Thomas to thrust your bloody fangs in the very wound。〃
〃Oh； stop； please； I beg you；〃 I whispered。 I put up my hands。 〃Let me try； and let him hurt me； and then be satisfied； and turn away。〃
I only meant it as I said it； and I felt no power in it； only meekness and unutterable sadness。
But it struck her hard； and for the first time her face became absolutely and totally sorrowful； and she too had moist and reddening eyes； and her lips even pressed together as she looked at me。
〃Poor lost child； Armand；〃 she said。 〃I am so sorry for you。 I was so glad that you had survived the sun。〃
〃Then that means I can forgive you； Gabrielle；〃 I said； 〃for all the cruel things you've said to me。〃
She raised her eyebrows thoughtfully； and then slowly nodded in silent assent。 Then putting up her hands； she backed away without a sound and took up her old station； sitting on the altar step； her head leaning back against the munion rail。 She brought up her knees as before； and she merely looked at me； her face in shadow。
I waited。 She was still and quiet； and not a sound came from the occupants scattered about the chapel。 I could hear the steady beat of Sybelle's heart and the anxious breath of Benji； but they were many yards away。
I looked down on Lestat； who was unchanged； his hair fallen as before； a little over his left eye。 His right arm was out； and his fingers curling upwards； and there came from him not the slightest movement； not even a breath from his lungs or a sigh from his pores。
I knelt down beside him again。 I reached out； and without flinching or hesitating； I brushed his hair back from his face。
I could feel the shock in the room。 I heard the sighs； the gasps from the others。 But Lestat himself didn't stir。
Slowly； I brushed his hair more tenderly； and I saw to my own mute shock one of my tears fall right onto his face。
It was red yet watery and transparent and it appeared to vanish as it moved down the curve of his cheekbone and into the natural hollow below。
I slipped down closer； turning on my side； facing him； my hand still on his hair。 I stretched my legs out behind me； and alongside of him； and I lay there； letting my face rest right on his outstretched arm。
Again there came the shocked gasps and sighs； and I tried to keep my heart absolutely pure of pride and pure of anything but love。
It was not differentiated or defined； this love； but only love； the love I could feel perhaps for one I killed or one I succored； or one whom I passed in the street； or for one whom I knew and valued as much as him。
All the burden of his sorrows seemed unimaginable to me； and in my mind a notion of it expanded to include the tragedy of all of us； those who kill to live； and thrive on death even as the very Earth decrees it； and are cursed with consciousness to know it； and know by what inches all things that feed us slowly anguish and at last are no more。 Sorrow。 Sorrow so much greater than guilt； and so much more ready for accounting； sorrow too great for the wide world。
I climbed up。 I rested my weight on my elbow； and I sent my right fingers slipping gently across his neck。 Slowly I pressed my lips to his whitened silky skin and breathed in the old unmistakable taste and scent of him； something sweet and undefinable and utterly personal； something made up of all his physical gifts and those given him afterwards； and I pressed my sharp eyeteeth through his skin to taste his blood。
There was no chapel then for me； or outraged sighs or reverential cries。 I heard nothing； and yet knew what was all around。 I knew it as if the substantial place was but a phantasm； for what was real was his blood。
It was as thick as honey； deep and strong of taste； a syrup for the very angels。
I groaned aloud drinking it； feeling the searing heat of it； so unlike to any human blood。 With each slow beat of his powerful heart there came another small surge of it； until my mouth was filled and my throat swallowed without my bidding； and the sound of his heart grew louder； ever louder； and a reddish shimmer filled my vision； and I saw through this shimmer a great swirling dust。
A wretched dreary din rose slowly out of nothingness； mingled with an acid sand that stung my eyes。 It was a desert place； all right； and old and full of rank and mon things； of sweat and filth and death。 The din was voices crying out； and echoing up the close and grimy walls。 Voices crowded upon voices； taunts and jeers and cries of horror； and gruff riffs of foul indifferent gossip rushing over the most poignant and terrible cries of outrage and alarm。
Against sweating bodies I was pressed； struggling； the slanting sun burning on my outstretched arm。 I understood the babble all around me； the ancient tongue hollered and wailed in my ears as I fought to get ever closer to the source of all the wet and ugly motion that swamped me and tried to hold me back。
It seemed they'd crush the very life out of me； these ragged； rough…skinned men and veiled women in their coarse homespun； thrusting elbows at me and stepping on my feet。 I couldn't see what lay before me。 I flung my arms out； deafened by the cries and the wicked boiling laughter； and suddenly； as if by decree； the crowd parted； and I beheld the lurid masterpiece itself。
He stood in His torn and bloody white robe； this very Figure whose Face I'd seen imprinted into the fibers of the Veil。 Arms bound up with thick uneven iron chains to the heavy and monstrous crossbeam of His crucifix； He hunched beneath it； hair pouring down on either side of His bruised and lacerated face。 The blood from the thorns flowed into His open and unflinching eyes。
He looked at me； quite startled； even faintly amazed。 He stared with wide and open gaze as if the multitude didn't surround Him； and a whip did not crack over His very back and then His bowed head。 He stared past the tangle of his clotted hair and from beneath His raw and bleeding lids。
〃Lord！〃 I cried。
I must have reached out for Him； for those were my hands； my smallish and white hands that I saw！ I saw them struggling to reach His Face。
〃Lord！〃 I cried again。
And back He stared at me； unmoving； eyes meeting my eyes； hands dangling from the iron chains and mouth drip