ed to read the thought.

"Cavaliere," he said, "at a moment when time is so valuable you will
pardon my directness. You are accompanying to Switzerland a lady who has
placed herself in your charge--"

Odo made no reply, and the other went on in the same firm but courteous
tone: "Foreseeing that it would be difficult for you to leave her so
abruptly I provided myself, in Venice, with a passport which will take
her safely across the border." He drew a paper from his coat. "This,"
said he, handing it to Odo, "is the Papal Nuncio's authorisation to the
Signorina Fulvia Vivaldi, known in religion as Sister Veronica, to
absent herself from Italy for an indefinite period. With this passport
and a good escort your companion will have no difficulty in joining her
friends."

Excess of astonishment kept Odo silent for a moment; and in that moment
he had as it were a fugitive glimpse into the workings of the great
power which still strove for predominance in Italy. A safe-conduct from
the Papal Nuncio to Fulvia Vivaldi was equivalent to her release from
her vows; and this in turn implied that, for the moment, religious
discipline had been frankly sacrificed to the pressure of political
necessities. How the invisible hands made and unmade the destinies of
those who came in their way! How boldly the Church swept aside her own
defences when they obstructed her course! He was conscious, even at the
moment, of all that men like de Crucis had to say in defence of this
higher expediency, this avowed discrimination between the factors in
each fresh combination of circumstances. He had himself felt the complex
wonder of thoughtful minds before the Church's perpetual miracle of
change disguised in immutability; but now he saw only the meaner side of
the game, its elements of cruelty and falseness; and he felt himself no
more than a frail bark on the dark and tossing seas of ecclesiastical
intrigue. For a moment his heart shuddered back from its fate.

"No passport, no safe-conduct," he said at length, "can release me from
my duty to the lady who has placed herself in my care. I shall not leave
her till she has joined her friends."

De Crucis bowed. "This is the answer I expected," he said, not without
sadness.

Odo glanced at him in surprise. The two men, hitherto, had addressed
each other as strangers; but now something in the abate's tone recalled
to Odo the familiarity of their former intercourse, their deep community
of thought, t