ably clever, humorous, kindly face; and he wore a remarkably
shabby cassock. The Duchessa's chaplain, Peter supposed. How should it
occur to him that this was Cardinal Udeschini? Do Cardinals (in one's
antecedent notion of them) wear shabby cassocks, and look humorous and
unassuming? Do they go tramping about the country in the rain, attended
by no retinue save a woman and a fourteen-year-old girl? And are they
little men--in one's antecedent notion? True, his shabby cassock had red
buttons, and there was a red sash round his waist, and a big amethyst
glittered in a setting of pale gold on his annular finger. But Peter was
not sufficiently versed in fashions canonical, to recognise the meaning
of these insignia.

How, on the other hand, should it occur to the Duchessa that Peter
needed enlightenment? At all events, she said to him, "Let me introduce
you;" and then, to the priest, "Let me present Mr. Marchdale--of whom
you have heard before now."

The white-haired old man smiled sweetly into Peter's eyes, and gave him
a slender, sensitive old hand.

"E cattivo vento che non e buono per qualcuno--debbo a questa burrasca
la pregustazione d' un piacere," he said, with a mingling of ceremonious
politeness and sunny geniality that was of his age and race.

Peter--instinctively--he could not have told why--put a good deal more
deference into his bow, than men of his age and race commonly put into
their bows, and murmured something about "grand' onore."

Marietta placed a row of chairs before the raised stone hearth, and
afterwards, at her master's request, busied herself preparing tea.

"But I think you would all be wise to take a little brandy first," Peter
suggested. "It is my despair that I am not able to provide you with a
change of raiment. Brandy will be the best substitute, perhaps."

The old priest laughed, and put his hand upon the shoulder of Emilia.

"You have spared this young lady an embarrassing avowal. Brandy is
exactly what she was screwing her courage to the point of asking for."

"Oh, no!" protested Emilia, in a deep Italian voice, with passionate
seriousness.

But Peter fetched a decanter, and poured brandy for everyone.

"I drink to your health--c'est bien le cas de le dire. I hope you will
not have caught your deaths of cold," he said.

"Oh, we are quite warm now," said the Duchessa. "We are snug in an ingle
on Mount Ararat."

"Our wetting will have done us good--it will make us grow. You and