er's house without
Madame Cheverny's consent."

"True," said Father Benart. "Of course Peter was obliged to ask Madame
Cheverny's consent. I did not even think it necessary to remind him of
that. And as to Madame Cheverny's asking advice, I know of no one who
has managed affairs so successfully as Madame Cheverny. We might all
of us ask advice of her in many things."

The air of humility with which the little priest said this convinced
me that he was a wit disguised in his rusty cassock. The bishop did
not relish the implication in his brother's speech, and resumed with
some choler.

"I presume that headstrong woman, Peggy Kirkpatrick, who wishes to be
thought Jove in petticoats, went about the parish counseling all the
young women to follow Lisa Embden's example."

"I can not inform you on that point, brother," replied Father Benart,
"I have not cognizance of all Madame Riano says and does."

"She is a great trial of my patience," said the bishop. "She is the
thorn in my flesh like unto the one that St. Paul prayed seven
times that he might be delivered from. I should come oftener to
the chateau of Capello, but for the unpleasant chance of meeting
Peggy Kirkpatrick."

"You will not meet her this time, brother. She is in Luxembourg."

At once the bishop's countenance fell, but he recovered himself
sufficiently to express satisfaction that Madame Riano was in
Luxembourg. He then went on to say, taking me as well as his brother
into his confidence, that one object of his visit was to induce
Francezka to give up all hope of her husband's return, and, putting on
mourning, to comport herself as a widow should. I could not help
compassionating the bishop when he said this, knowing what he was
likely to receive. He consulted with Father Benart whether he should
admonish Francezka in public or in private. Father Benart reflected a
moment before he answered. We were then driving along the splendid
avenue of lindens toward the chateau, which sat in fairy beauty on its
terraces, the morning sun gilding its white facade, the canal
sparkling in the light, the grass freshly green--all, all, lovely to
excess. After a pause, Father Benart spoke:

"It is a painful and delicate subject, brother, and but little can be
safely said upon it. I think it best, perhaps, if you are determined
to speak, to do so in the presence of a third person."

The little priest told me afterward, that he was afraid, if the bishop
undertook to har