So Peter sent Gigi to the village for the Parrocco. And Gigi
came back with the intelligence that the Parrocco was away,
making a retreat, and would not return till Saturday. To-day
was Wednesday.
"What shall we do now?" Peter asked of Sister Scholastica.
"There is Monsignor Langshawe, at Castel Ventirose," said the
sister.
"Could I ask him to come?" Peter doubted.
"Certainly," said the sister. "In a case of illness, the
nearest priest will always gladly come."
So Peter despatched Gigi with a note to Monsignor Langshawe.
And presently up drove a brougham, with Gigi on the box beside
the coachman. And from the brougham descended, not Monsignor
Langshawe, but Cardinal Udeschini, followed by Emilia Manfredi.
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 passed.
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 constitutes 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.