He excused himself, and sought out Marietta. He found her in
her housekeeper's room, on her knees, saying her rosary, in
obvious terror. I 'm afraid he interrupted her orisons
somewhat brusquely.
"Will you be so good as to start a rousing fire in the kitchen
--as quickly as ever it can be done?"
And he rejoined his guests.
"If you will come this way--" he said.
Marietta had a fire of logs and pine-cones blazing in no time.
She courtesied low to the Duchessa, lower still to the priest
--in fact, Peter was n't sure that she did n't genuflect before
him, while he made a rapid movement with his hand over her
head: the Sign of the Cross, perhaps.
He was a little, unassuming-looking, white haired priest, with
a remarkably clever, humorous, kindly face; and he wore a
remarkably shabby cassock. The Duchessa's chaplain, Peter
supposed. How should it occur to him that this was Cardinal
Udeschini? Do Cardinals (in one's antecedent notion of them)
wear shabby cassocks, and look humorous and unassuming? Do
they go tramping about the country in the rain, attended by no
retinue save a woman and a fourteen-year-old girl? And are
they little men--in one's antecedent notion? True, his shabby
cassock had red buttons, and there was a red sash round his
waist, and a big amethyst glittered in a setting of pale gold
on his annular finger. But Peter was not sufficiently versed
in fashions canonical, to recognise the meaning of these
insignia.
How, on the other hand, should it occur to the Duchessa that
Peter needed enlightenment? At all events, she said to him,
"Let me introduce you;" and then, to the priest, "Let me
present Mr. Marchdale--of whom you have heard before now."
The white-haired old man smiled sweetly into Peter's eyes, and
gave him a slender, sensitive old hand.
"E cattivo vento che non e buono per qualcuno--debbo a questa
burrasca la pregustazione d' un piacere," he said, with a
mingling of ceremonious politeness and sunny geniality that was
of his age and race.
Peter--instinctively--he could not have told why--put a good
deal more deference into his bow, than men of his age and race
commonly put into their bows, and murmured something about
"grand' onore."
Marietta placed a row of chairs before the raised stone hearth,
and afterwards, at her master's request, busied herself
preparing tea.
"But I think you would all be wise to take a little brandy
first," Peter suggested. "It is my despair that I am not able
to provide you with a change of raiment. Brandy will be the
best substitute, perhaps."