sh him to find me a
frowsy creature, but a wife worthy of him. To be that, I must be ever
well dressed, well read, well behaved--such, I hope I am."

The flood of her vehemence arrested the bishop's impatient walk.
Father Benart sighed a little, as any one might, at this poor, human
heart of Francezka's, laid bare, and beating desperately against the
fate that seemed closing around her. Neither one of them spoke
immediately, nor did I. No one of us present knew how to answer
Francezka. After a considerable pause, the bishop said, not unkindly:

"I perceive my counsel has been in vain. I must depart."

Francezka, then, mindful of her duties as chatelaine, pressed him to
remain, or at least to take some refreshment before leaving. To the
last he agreed.

Peter, in response to a ring of the bell, brought a tray, with wine
and glasses. At the first sip of wine, the bishop's countenance
cleared. He was a judge of wines and that in his glass was worthy even
of the Bishop of Louvain.

"This is admirable--the best of the Mosel vineyards," he said.

"Yes," sweetly replied Francezka. "I stocked the cellar last year with
good wine at a reasonable price--" which she named.

The bishop blinked his eyes at her. How came it, that she, a woman,
should have so good a head? And being practical in the purchase of
wine and the management of affairs should be so impractical concerning
her missing husband? However, the bishop would depart, so he said
adieu to us all, and accompanied by Father Benart, went away, to spend
the night at the priest's house.

I made no remark about the bishop's visit, but I saw that it was not
without its effect on Francezka, in spite of her spirited protest to
his Grace. She was more silent all of that day than I had yet seen
her, and there was a heart-breaking look in her eyes that went to my
heart, and also to the heart of the dog, Bold; for, seeing her
pensive, he rose from his place at her feet, and laid his head, with a
little whine of sympathy, upon her lap. For once, Francezka forgot to
notice him. Her eyes were fixed on something afar which yet she saw
not, and I heard her murmur:

"Oh, my tired heart!"

Father Benart told me afterward, the conclusion of the bishop's
concern about Lisa. The little priest did not tell it me exactly as I
repeat it; but what I had seen of his Grace supplied all details. His
defeat at Francezka's hands determined him on punishing somebody, and
Father Benart and L