The Cardinal's Snuff Box

When Peter rose next morning, he pulled a grimace at the

departed night.

"You are a detected cheat," he cried, "an unmasked impostor.

You live upon your reputation as a counsellor--'tis the only

reason why we bear with you. La nuit porte conseil! Yet what

counsel have you brought to me?--and I at the pass where my

need is uttermost. Shall I go to her this afternoon, and

unburden my soul--or shall I not? You have left me where you

found me--in the same fine, free, and liberal state of

vacillation. Discredited oracle!"

He was standing before his dressing-table, brushing his hair.

The image in the glass frowned back at him. Then something

struck him.

"At all events, we'll go this morning to Spiaggia, and have our

hair cut," he resolved.

So he walked to the village, and caught the ten o'clock omnibus

for Spiaggia. And after he had had his hair cut, he went to

the Hotel de Russie, and lunched in the garden. And after

luncheon, of course, he entered the grounds of the Casino, and

strolled backwards and forwards, one of a merry procession, on

the terrace by the lakeside. The gay toilets of the women,

their bright-coloured hats and sunshades, made the terrace look

like a great bank of monstrous moving flowers. The band played

brisk accompaniments to the steady babble of voices, Italian,

English, German. The pure air was shot with alien scents--the

women's perfumery, the men's cigarette-smoke. The marvellous

blue waters crisped in the breeze, and sparkled in the sun; and

the smooth snows of Monte Sfiorito loomed so near, one felt one

could almost put out one's stick and scratch one's name upon

them . . . . And here, as luck would have it, Peter came face

to face with Mrs. O'Donovan Florence.

"How do you do?" said she, offering her hand.

"How do you do?" said he.

"It's a fine day," said she.

"Very," said he.

"Shall I make you a confidence?" she asked.

"Do," he answered.

"Are you sure I can trust you?" She scanned his face dubiously.

"Try it and see," he urged.

"Well, then, if you must know, I was thirsting to take a table

and call for coffee; but having no man at hand to chaperon me,

I dared not."

"Je vous en prie'' cried Peter, with a gesture of gallantry;

and he led her to one of the round marble tables. "Due caffe,"

he said to the brilliant creature (chains, buckles, ear-rings,

of silver filigree, and head-dress and apron of flame-red silk)

who came to learn their pleasure.