rded tongue. I have
seen a knife-point look out at the other side of a man for less!"

Father Mariana raised his plump hands in deprecation.

"No, no," he said. "_'Quoniam Deus mortem non fecit, nec laetatur in
perditione vivorum!'_ Neither must you, my son, and a son of Holy
Church. Besides, there are always other ways. I am writing a book to
show how the Church can best be served with the guile of the serpent,
yet with the harmlessness of the dove."

The mood of the young man changed as he listened, as it always did with
Father Mariana of Toledo.

"I spoke in haste," he said. "I wish no ill to Paul Morella, nor to his
sister, the Countess Livia--only I would their tongues were stiller!"

The Jesuit patted Raphael's arm gently and soothingly.

"Be content," he murmured; "the Countess Livia is neither your sister
nor your wife. 'As the climbing up of a sandy way is to the feet of the
aged--so is a wife full of words to a quiet man.' So it is written, and
all marriage is but a commentary upon that text."

"Hum, it may be, my father," said Raphael, "and to tell the truth, I am
tempted to try. In which matter I shall be glad to have your advice, my
father Mariana, since you have come all the way from your hermitage at
Toledo to visit your old pupil----"

"And also to serve the Order and Holy Church," added the Jesuit gravely,
like a preceptor making a necessary correction in an exercise. "Is it as
spiritual director or as friend that you desire my counsel?"

"As a man of the world, rather," said Raphael, sitting down on the edge
of his bed and nursing his knee between his joined fingers. The Jesuit
had already installed himself in the great tapestried armchair, and put
his small, neatly-shod feet close together on the footstool.

"Alas, my son," said the priest, when at last he was comfortable, "I
have long ago lost all title to that name. And yet, I do not know; I
have been chased from most countries, and openly condemned by the
General of my own Order. Yet I serve in faith----"

"Oh," said Raphael, smiling, "all the world knows that the Order
approves your doings. The General only condemns your words for the
benefit of the vulgar and anointed kings. If I make not too bold, it
seems to me that there is a certain king in France--I say not of
France--who may well be interested in your presence so near his
territories! If I were he, I should say my prayers!"

"If you speak of the Bearnais, you are mistaken," sai