quire the habit. I
remember, when I was a child, our mothers used to keep it as a medicine;
and you could only buy it at the chemists' shops."

"It's coming in, you know, at Rome--among the Whites," said the
Duchessa.

"Among the Whites!" cried he, with a jocular simulation of disquiet.
"You should not have told me that, till I had finished my cup. Now I
shall feel that I am sharing a dissipation with our spoliators."

"That should give an edge to its aroma," laughed she. "And besides, the
Whites aren't all responsible for our spoliation--some of them are not
so white as your fancy paints them. They'd be very decent people, for
the most part--if they were n't so vulgar."

"If you stick up for the Whites like that when I am Pope, I shall
excommunicate you," the priest threatened. "Meanwhile, what have you to
say against the Blacks?"

"The Blacks, with few exceptions, are even blacker than they're painted;
but they too would be fairly decent people in their way--if they were
n't so respectable. That is what makes Rome impossible as a residence
for any one who cares for human society. White society is so
vulgar--Black society is so deadly dull."

"It is rather curious," said the priest, "that the chief of each party
should wear the colour of his adversary. Our chief dresses in white, and
their chief can be seen any day driving about the streets in black."

And Peter, during this interchange of small-talk, was at liberty to
feast his eyes upon her.

"Perhaps you have not yet reached the time of life where men begin to
find a virtue in snuff?" the priest said, producing a smart silver snuff
box, tapping the lid, and proffering it to Peter.

"On the contrary--thank you," Peter answered, and absorbed his pinch
like an adept.

"How on earth have you learned to take it without a paroxysm?" cried the
surprised Duchessa.

"Oh, a thousand years ago I was in the Diplomatic Service," he
explained. "It is one of the requirements."

Emilia Manfredi lifted her big brown eyes, filled with girlish wonder,
to his face, and exclaimed, "How extraordinary!"

"It is n't half so extraordinary as it would be if it were true, my
dear," said the Duchessa.

"Oh? Non e poi vero?" murmured Emilia, and her eyes darkened with
disappointment.

Peter meanwhile was looking at the snuffbox, which the priest still held
in his hand, and admiring its brave repousse work of leaves and flowers,
and the escutcheon engraved on the lid. But wha