gesture before.

"As a literary composition," he remarked in his soft, cold voice, "it is
utterly worthless, and could be admired only by persons who know nothing
about literature. As for its giving offence, that is the very thing I
intended it to do."

"That I quite understand. The question is whether you may not succeed in
giving offence to the wrong people."

He shrugged his shoulders and put a torn-off petal between his teeth. "I
think you are mistaken," he said. "The question is: For what purpose
did your committee invite me to come here? I understood, to expose and
ridicule the Jesuits. I fulfil my obligation to the best of my ability."

"And I can assure you that no one has any doubt as to either the ability
or the good-will. What the committee fears is that the liberal party may
take offence, and also that the town workmen may withdraw their
moral support. You may have meant the pamphlet for an attack upon the
Sanfedists: but many readers will construe it as an attack upon the
Church and the new Pope; and this, as a matter of political tactics, the
committee does not consider desirable."

"I begin to understand. So long as I keep to the particular set of
clerical gentlemen with whom the party is just now on bad terms, I
may speak sooth if the fancy takes me; but directly I touch upon the
committee's own pet priests--'truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be
whipped out, when the--Holy Father may stand by the fire and-----' Yes,
the fool was right; I'd rather be any kind of a thing than a fool. Of
course I must bow to the committee's decision, but I continue to
think that it has pared its wit o' both sides and left--M-mon-signor
M-m-montan-n-nelli in the middle."

"Montanelli?" Gemma repeated. "I don't understand you. Do you mean the
Bishop of Brisighella?"

"Yes; the new Pope has just created him a Cardinal, you know. I have a
letter about him here. Would you care to hear it? The writer is a friend
of mine on the other side of the frontier."

"The Papal frontier?"

"Yes. This is what he writes----" He took up the letter which had been
in his hand when she entered, and read aloud, suddenly beginning to
stammer violently:

"'Y-o-you will s-s-s-soon have the p-pleasure of m-m-meeting one of our
w-w-worst enemies, C-cardinal Lorenzo M-montan-n-nelli, the B-b-bishop
of Brisig-g-hella. He int-t----'"

He broke off, paused a moment, and began again, very slowly and drawling
insufferably, but no longer sta