to the poor of Naples in one way or another,
and he had seen at a glance how his poor friend had in his youth
exaggerated his boyish admiration for his stepmother. But Don Matteo put
the main point very clearly before the cardinal--always as a purely
theoretical case of conscience, asking what a confessor's duty would be
in such an extremely difficult situation.

The cardinal listened attentively, and then was silent for some time.

"The first thing to be done," he said at last, "would be to make a
priest of him. He is evidently a man with a vocation, and the chain of
circumstances which led him into this sin and difficulty is a very
strange one. I hardly know what to say of it--left alone with savages
only just converted--well, he was wrong, of course. But the man you
represent in your theoretical case is supposed to be in all other
respects almost a holy man."

"Yes, a man of holy life," said Don Matteo, earnestly.

"I do not see how a man of such disposition could have been so lacking
in courage afterwards," said the cardinal.

"But suppose that it were exactly as I represent the case, Eminence,
what should the confessor do?"

The cardinal looked into his eyes long and gravely.

"I should think it best to make a priest of him as soon as possible," he
said at last.

"But how? No bishop could ordain him a priest without knowing his
story."

"I would ordain him, if he came to me. I think I should be doing right."

"But then your Eminence would know him, and the secret of confession
would have been betrayed."

"That is true. Let him go to another bishop and tell his story."

"Another bishop might not think as your Eminence does. Besides, the
question is what the confessor is to do under the circumstances."

The cardinal suddenly rose, went to the broad window, and looked out
thoughtfully. Don Matteo stood up respectfully, waiting. It seemed to
him a long time before the prelate turned, and what he did then
surprised the priest very much, for he went to each of the three doors
of the room in succession, opened it, looked out, closed it again and
locked it. Then he came back to Don Matteo.

"Are you, to the best of your belief, in a state of grace, my friend?"
he asked in a low voice. "Have you no mortal sin on your conscience?
Reflect well. This is a grave matter."

"I cannot think of any, Eminence," answered the good priest, after a
moment's pause.

"Very well. We are alone here. The case of conscienc