and stood upon the stone
sill within the closed window.

The curate was a tall old man, with a singularly gentle face and soft
brown eyes. He wore a threadbare cassock, carefully brushed; and from
beneath his three-cornered black cap his thin hair hung in a straight
grey fringe. As the Prince entered the room, the old woman called
over his shoulder to the priest an uncertain formula of introduction.

"Don Paolo, _c'e uno_--there is one." Then she retired, grumbling
audibly.

The priest removed his cap, and bowing politely, offered one of the two
chairs to his visitor. With an apology, he replaced his cap upon his
head, and seated himself opposite the Prince. There was much courteous
simplicity in his manner.

"In what way can I serve you, Signore?" he asked.

"These papers," answered the Prince, drawing the famous envelope from his
breast-pocket, "are copies of certain documents in your keeping, relating
to the supposed marriage of one Giovanni Saracinesca. With your very kind
permission, I desire to see the originals."

The old curate bowed, as though giving his assent, and looked steadily at
his visitor for a moment before he answered.

"There is nothing simpler, my good sir. You will pardon me, however, if I
venture to inquire your name, and to ask you for what purpose you desire
to consult the documents?"

"I am Leone Saracinesca of Rome--"

The priest started uneasily.

"A relation of Giovanni Saracinesca?" he inquired. Then he added
immediately, "Will you kindly excuse me for one moment?" and left the
room abruptly. The Prince was considerably astonished, but he held his
papers firmly in his hand, and did not move from his seat. The curate
returned in a few seconds, bringing with him a little painted porcelain
basket, much chipped and the worse for age, and which contained a
collection of visiting-cards. There were not more than a score of them,
turning brown with accumulated dust. The priest found one which was
rather newer than the rest, and after carefully adjusting a pair of huge
spectacles upon his nose, he went over to the lamp and examined it.

"'Il Conte del Ferice,'" he read slowly. "Do you happen to know that
gentleman, my good sir?" he inquired, turning to the Prince, and looking
keenly at him over his glasses.

"Certainly," answered Saracinesca, beginning to understand the situation.
"I know him very well."

"Ah, that is good!" said the priest. "He was here two years ago,
and had those