a cardinal's hat, he could not have determined
more obstinately on success; perhaps he would not have strained toward
the goal with the same energy, for rightly or wrongly the cure had no
temporal ambition for himself. He loved his mountain flock, and had no
wish to leave it. His garden was to him what a boxful of jewels is to
some women. What he had to do in the next few minutes was to secure
Vanno's happiness and the girl's; for it did not occur to him as
possible that she had no love for Vanno.

"I think," began Mary, "that you must be the cure of Roquebrune, and
that it was you who came to see me at the hotel. It was very kind of
you, and so kind to come again. I meant to have gone up to your church,
but----"

"I understand," he put in when she paused, showing embarrassment.
"Still, I want you to come not only to my church, but to my garden. It
will do you good. It is that which I have called to ask you to do. That,
and one other thing."

"One other thing?" Mary looked a little anxious. Now he would perhaps
say that he had heard from the convent, that they knew where she was,
and had begged him to admonish her.

"Yes, one other thing. You will think I am abrupt in mentioning it, but
you see, I must speak quickly, for at any moment I may be interrupted,
and the thing is of great importance--to me, because it concerns one
whom I love--he who first asked me to come and see you, Prince Vanno
Della Robbia."

"It was he who asked you?" The words burst from her. She had been pale;
but suddenly the lilies of her face were turned to roses, as one flower
may seem to be transformed into another, by the trick of an Indian
fakir.

"Yes. Because I am his old friend, and he wished that you and I might
also be friends. That was before he had ever spoken one word to you, or
you to him; but now, I feel sure, you have met?"

Mary's flaming face paled and hardened. "What has he told you?" she
asked sharply.

"Nothing. I have not seen him for many days. But because I have not, and
because of what I hear of him, I think you have met. I think, too, that
perhaps you both made some mistakes about each other. I will not even
beg you not to consider me impertinent or intrusive. It would insult
your intelligence and your heart. I ask you, my child, to tell me
whether or no I have guessed right?"

"He made mistakes about me," she replied, almost sullenly. "I don't see
how it's possible that I have made any about him."

"It is not