rich she could do as she liked in other respects besides diamonds, and,
liking to marry Emanuele, she did so and made him padrone of a grand
hotel in Madrid or Vienna, I forget which, but it was a hotel of the
first class, frequented by Russian princesses and American millionaires.

I told Michele about this and he assured me that his proposal concealed
no equestrian circus and no Egyptian duchess; to become his compare I
should only have to hold his eldest son Pietro, aged seven, at his
cresima. Here was an opportunity of solving the mysteries of the cresima
and the compare, which Michele, who took my consent for granted, assured
me would solve themselves as we proceeded. We went to the bishop's
palace and were shown into his private chapel, where the sagrestano
entertained us with conversation while we waited. Only once before had
he ever approached an Englishman, and that was at Messina. He was a very
rich Englishman and a devout son of the Church; his card with his name
and address was still preserved as a ricordo in the sagrestano's house.
This gentleman afterwards died in Naples under dramatic circumstances.
He had stepped out one evening to take a mouthful of air, and on
returning went upstairs to his room; as he put his latch-key into the
door he fell down dead. By his will, which was found in the drawer of
his writing-table, he bequeathed all his great wealth to the church of S.
Antonio. I wanted to know whether this church is in Messina, or Naples,
or England; or, it might be in America or Australia, for they sometimes
speak of an Inglese Americano and of an Inglese Australiano. Once I took
some of my superfluous luggage to a forwarding agent in Palermo to have
it sent to England by piccola velocita. It included a figure of Buddha
which I had bought in a curiosity-shop in Malta. The clerk declined to
forward the image because it was a product of art, and such things may
not be sent out of Italy. I said it was a product of religion; he
accepted my correction and proposed to describe it in the form he was
filling up as a Madonna. Again I objected, pointing out that anyone
could see it was not a lady; it was Buddha. He was as puzzled as I had
been over the compare. I attempted a short sketch from memory of
Buddha's life and works, and was so far successful that the figure
travelled to London as a Cristo Indiano.

The arrival of the bishop cut short the sagrestano's reminiscences.
There also came a w