"On the contrary--thank you," Peter answered, and absorbed his

pinch like an adept.

"How on earth have you learned to take it without a paroxysm?"

cried the surprised Duchessa.

"Oh, a thousand years ago I was in the Diplomatic Service," he

explained. "It is one of the requirements."

Emilia Manfredi lifted her big brown eyes, filled with girlish

wonder, to his face, and exclaimed, "How extraordinary!"

"It is n't half so extraordinary as it would be if it were

true, my dear," said the Duchessa.

"Oh? Non e poi vero?" murmured Emilia, and her eyes darkened

with disappointment.

Peter meanwhile was looking at the snuffbox, which the priest

still held in his hand, and admiring its brave repousse work of

leaves and flowers, and the escutcheon engraved on the lid.

But what if he could have guessed the part he had passively

played in obtaining it for its possessor--or the part that it

was still to play in his own epopee? Mark again the

predestination!

"The storm is passing," said the priest.

"Worse luck!" thought Peter.

For indeed the rain and the wind were moderating, the thunder

had rolled farther away, the sky was becoming lighter.

"But there's a mighty problem before us still," said the

Duchessa. "How are we to get to Ventirose? The roads will, be

ankle-deep with mud."

"If you wish to do me a very great kindness--" Peter began.

"Yes--?" she encouraged him.

"You will allow me to go before you, and tell them to come for

you with a carriage."

"I shall certainly allow you to do nothing of the sort," she

replied severely. "I suppose there is no one whom you could

send?"

"I should hardly like to send Marietta. I 'm afraid there is

no one else. But upon my word, I should enjoy going myself."

She shook her head, smiling at him with mock compassion.

"Would you? Poor man, poor man! That is an enjoyment which

you will have to renounce. One must n't expect too much in

this sad life."

"Well, then," said Peter, "I have an expedient. If you can

walk a somewhat narrow plank--?"

"Yes--?" questioned she.

"I think I can improvise a bridge across the river."

"I believe the rain has stopped," said the priest, looking

towards the window.

Peter, manning his soul for the inevitable, got up, went to the

door, opened it, stuck out his head.




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