"I will guard against that danger by not marrying at all,"
laughed Beatrice.
"No--you will marry, some day," said the Cardinal. "And I wish
you to remember that I shall not oppose your marrying--provided
the man is a good man. Felipe will not like it--Guido will
pull a long nose--but I, at least, will take your part, if I
can feel that the man is good. Good men are rare, my dear;
good husbands are rarer still. I can think, for instance, of
no man in our Roman nobility, whom I should be content to see
you marry. Therefore I hope you will not marry a Roman. You
would be more likely to marry one of your own countrymen.
That, of course, would double the loss to us, if it should take
you away from Italy. But remember, if he is a man whom I can
think worthy of you, you may count upon me as an ally."
He resumed his walk, reopening his Breviary.
Beatrice resumed her needlework. But she found it difficult to
fix her attention on it. Every now and then, she would leave
her needle stuck across its seam, let the work drop to her lap,
and, with eyes turned vaguely up the valley, fall, apparently,
into a muse.
"I wonder why he said all that to me?" was the question that
kept posing itself.
By and by the Cardinal closed his Breviary, and put it in his
pocket. I suppose he had finished his office for the day.
Then he came and sat down in one of the wicker chairs, under
the awning. On the table, among the books and things, stood a
carafe of water, some tumblers, a silver sugar-bowl, and a
crystal dish full of fresh pomegranate seeds. It looked like a
dish full of unset rubies. The Cardinal poured some water into
a tumbler, added a lump of sugar and a spoonful of pomegranate
seeds, stirred the mixture till it became rose-coloured, and
drank it off in a series of little sips.
"What is the matter, Beatrice?" he asked, all at once.
Beatrice raised her eyes, perplexed.
"The matter--? Is anything the matter?"
"Yes," said the Cardinal; "something is the matter. You are
depressed, you are nervous, you are not yourself. I have
noticed it for many days. Have you something on, your mind?"
"Nothing in the world," Beatrice answered, with an appearance
of great candour. "I had not noticed that I was nervous or
depressed."
"We are entering October," said the Cardinal. "I must return
to Rome. I have been absent too long already. I must return
next week. But I should not like to go away with the feeling
that you are unhappy."