The Cardinal's Snuff Box

The children moved off. They moved off, whispering together,

and gesticulating, after the manner of their race: discussing

something. Presently they stopped; and the boy came running

back, while his sister waited.

He doffed his hat, and said, "A thousand pardons, Excellency-"

"Yes? What is it?" Peter asked.

"With your Excellency's favour--is it obligatory that we should

take the train?"

"Obligatory?" puzzled Peter. "How do you mean?"

"If it is not obligatory, we would prefer, with the permission

of your Excellency, to save the money."

"But--but then you will have to walk!" cried Peter.

"But if it is not obligatory to take the train, we would pray

your Excellency's permission to save the money. We should like

to save the money, to give it to the father. The father is

very poor. Fifty lire is so much," This time it was Peter who looked for counsel to the Duchessa.

Her eyes, still bright with tears, responded, "Let them do as

they will."

"No, it is not obligatory--it is only recommended," he said to

the boy, with a smile that he could n't help. "Do as you will.

But if I were you, I should spare my poor little feet."

"Mille grazie, Eccellenze," the boy said, with a final sweep of

his tattered hat. He ran back to his sister; and next moment

they were walking resolutely on, westward, "into the great red

light."

The Duchessa and Peter were silent for a while, looking after

them.

They dwindled to dots in the distance, and then, where the road

turned, disappeared.

At last the Duchessa spoke--but almost as if speaking to

herself.

"There, Felix Wildmay, you writer of tales, is a subject made

to your hand," she said.

We may guess whether Peter was startled. Was it possible that

she had found him out? A sound, confused, embarrassed,

something composite, between an oh and ayes, seemed to expire

in his throat.

But the Duchessa did n't appear to heed it.

"Don't you think it would be a touching episode for your friend

to write a story round?" she asked.

We may guess whether he was relieved.

"Oh--oh, yes," he agreed, with the precipitancy of a man who,

in his relief, would agree to anything.

"Have you ever seen such courage?" she went on. "The wonderful

babies! Fancy fifteen days, fifteen days and nights, alone,

unprotected, on the highway, those poor little atoms! Down in

their hearts they are really filled with terror. Who would n't

be, with such a journey before him? But how finely they

concealed it, mastered it! Oh, I hope they won't be robbed.

God help them--God help them!"