eet his charges. But, sir, if ye can lend to me,
ye may be certain that her leddyship will never, hear a word o't. Puir
thing, she takes nae thocht o' where the siller comes frae, ony mair
than the lilies o' the field."

I became a conspirator. "You swear, Oliphant, by all you hold sacred,
to breathe nothing of this to your mistress, and if she should suspect,
to lie like a Privy Councillor?"

A flicker of a smile crossed his face. "I'll lee like a Scotch
packman, and the Father o' lees could do nae mair. You need have no
fear for your siller, sir. I've aye repaid when I borrowed, though you
may have to wait a bittock." And the strange fellow strolled off.

At dinner no Duchess appeared till long after the appointed hour, nor
was there any sign of Oliphant. When she came at last with Cristine,
her eyes looked as if she had been crying, and she greeted me with
remote courtesy. My first thought was that Oliphant had revealed the
matter of the loan, but presently I found that the lady's trouble was
far different. Her father, it seemed, was ill again with his old
complaint. What that was I did not ask, nor did the Duchess reveal it.

We spoke in French, for I had discovered that this was her favourite
speech. There was no Oliphant to wait on us, and the inn servants were
always about, so it was well to have a tongue they did not comprehend.
The lady was distracted and sad. When I inquired feelingly as to the
general condition of her father's health she parried the question, and
when I offered my services she disregarded my words. It was in truth a
doleful meal, while the faded Cristine sat like a sphinx staring into
vacancy. I spoke of England and of her friends, of Paris and
Versailles, of Avignon where she had spent some years, and of the
amenities of Florence, which she considered her home. But it was like
talking to a nunnery door. I got nothing but "It is indeed true, sir,"
or "Do you say so, sir!" till my energy began to sink. Madame
perceived my discomfort, and, as she rose, murmured an apology. "Pray
forgive my distraction, but I am poor company when my father is ill. I
have a foolish mind, easily frightened. Nay, nay!" she went on when I
again offered help, "the illness is trifling. It will pass off by
to-morrow, or at the latest the next day. Only I had looked forward to
some ease at Santa Chiara, and the promise is belied."

As it chanced that evening, returning to the inn, I passed by