The Cardinal gave Peter his hand, with a smile so sweet, so benign, so sunny-bright--it was like music, Peter thought; it was like a silent anthem.

"Monsignor Langshawe has gone to Scotland, for his holiday. I have come in his place. Your man told me of your need," the Cardinal explained.

"I don't know how to thank your Eminence," Peter murmured, and conducted him to Marietta's room.

Sister Scholastica genuflected, and kissed the Cardinal's ring, and received his Benediction. Then she and Peter withdrew, and went into the garden.

The sister joined Emilia, and they walked backwards and forwards together, talking. Peter sat on his rustic bench, smoked cigarettes, and waited.

Nearly an hour pa.s.sed.

At length the Cardinal came out.

Peter rose, and went forward to meet him.

The Cardinal was smiling; but about his eyes there was a suggestive redness.

"Mr. Marchdale," he said, "your housekeeper is in great distress of conscience touching one or two offences she feels she has been guilty of towards you. They seem to me, in frankness, somewhat trifling. But I cannot persuade her to accept my view. She will not be happy till she has asked and received your pardon for them."

"Offences towards me?" Peter wondered. "Unless excess of patience with a very trying employer const.i.tutes an offence, she has been guilty of none."

"Never mind," said the Cardinal. "Her conscience accuses her--she must satisfy it. Will you come?"

The Cardinal sat down at the head of Marietta's bed, and took her hand.

"Now, dear," he said, with the gentleness, the tenderness, of one speaking to a beloved child, "here is Mr. Marchdale. Tell him what you have on your mind. He is ready to hear and to forgive you."

Marietta fixed her eyes anxiously on Peter's face.

"First," she whispered, "I wish to beg the Signorino to pardon all this trouble I am making for him. I am the Signorino's servant; but instead of serving, I make trouble for him."

She paused. The Cardinal smiled at Peter.

Peter answered, "Marietta, if you talk like that, you will make the Signorino cry. You are the best servant that ever lived. You are putting me to no trouble at all. You are giving me a chance--which I should be glad of, except that it involves your suffering--to show my affection for you, and my grat.i.tude."

"There, dear," said the Cardinal to her, "you see the Signorino makes nothing of that. Now the next thing. Go on."

"I have to ask the Signorino's forgiveness for my impertinence,"

whispered Marietta.

"Impertinence--?" faltered Peter. "You have never been impertinent."

"Scusi, Signorino," she went on, in her whisper. "I have sometimes contradicted the Signorino. I contradicted the Signorino when he told me that St. Anthony of Padua was born in Lisbon. It is impertinent of a servant to contradict her master. And now his most high Eminence says the Signorino was right. I beg the Signorino to forgive me."

Again the Cardinal smiled at Peter.

"You dear old woman," Peter half laughed, half sobbed, "how can you ask me to forgive a mere difference of opinion? You--you dear old thing."

The Cardinal smiled, and patted Marietta's hand.

"The Signorino is too good," Marietta sighed.

"Go on, dear," said the Cardinal.

"I have been guilty of the deadly sin of evil speaking. I have spoken evil of the Signorino," she went on. "I said--I said to people--that the Signorino was simple--that he was simple and natural. I thought so then. Now I know it is not so. I know it is only that the Signorino is English."

Once more the Cardinal smiled at Peter.

Again Peter half laughed, half sobbed.

"Marietta! Of course I am simple and natural. At least, I try to be.

Come! Look up. Smile. Promise you will not worry about these things any more."

She looked up, she smiled faintly.

"The Signorino is too good," she whispered.

After a little interval of silence, "Now, dear," said the Cardinal, "the last thing of all."

Marietta gave a groan, turning her head from side to side on her pillow.

"You need not be afraid," said the Cardinal. "Mr. Marchdale will certainly forgive you."

"Oh-h-h," groaned Marietta. She stared at the ceiling for an instant.

The Cardinal patted her hand. "Courage, courage," he said.

"Oh--Signorino mio," she groaned again, "this you never can forgive me.

It is about the little pig, the porcellino. The Signorino remembers the little pig, which he called Francesco?"

"Yes," answered Peter.

"The Signorino told me to take the little pig away, to find a home for him. And I told the Signorino that I would take him to my nephew, who is a farmer, towards Fogliamo. The Signorino remembers?"

"Yes," answered Peter. "Yes, you dear old thing. I remember."

Marietta drew a deep breath, summoned her utmost fort.i.tude.

"Well, I did not take him to my nephew. The--the Signorino ate him."

Peter could hardly keep from laughing. He could only utter a kind of half-choked "Oh?"

"Yes," whispered Marietta. "He was bought with the Signorino's money.

I did not like to see the Signorino's money wasted. So I deceived the Signorino. You ate him as a chicken-pasty."

This time Peter did laugh, I am afraid. Even the Cardinal--well, his smile was perilously near a t.i.tter. He took a big pinch of snuff.

"I killed Francesco, and I deceived the Signorino. I am very sorry,"