The Cardinal's Snuff Box

She flashed a whimsical little smile into his eyes. Then she

returned to her wicker chair, glancing an invitation at Peter

to place himself in the one facing her. She leaned back,

resting her head on a pink silk cushion.

Peter, no doubt, sent up a silent prayer that her uncle and her

niece might be detained at the village for the rest of the

afternoon. By her niece he took her to mean Emilia: he liked

her for the kindly euphemism. "What hair she has!" he thought,

admiring the loose brown masses, warm upon their background of

pink silk.

"Oh, I'm inured to waiting," he replied, with a retrospective

mind for the interminable waits of that interminable day.

The Duchessa had taken a fan from the table, and was playing

with it, opening and shutting it slowly, in her lap. Now she

caught Peter's eyes examining it, and she gave it to him. (My

own suspicion is that Peter's eyes had been occupied rather

with the hands that held the fan, than with the fan itself--but

that's a detail.) "I picked it up the other day, in Rome," she said. "Of course,

it's an imitation of the French fans of the last century, but I

thought it pretty."

It was of white silk, that had been thinly stained a soft

yellow, like the yellow of faded yellow rose-leaves. It was

painted with innumerable plump little cupids, flying among pale

clouds. The sticks were of mother-of=pearl. The end-sticks

were elaborately incised, and in the incisions opals were set,

big ones and small ones, smouldering with green and scarlet

fires.

"Very pretty indeed," said Peter, "and very curious. It's like

a great butterfly's wing is n't it? But are n't you afraid of

opals?"

"Afraid of opals?" she wondered. "Why should one be?"

"Unless your birthday happens to fall in October, they're

reputed to bring bad luck," he reminded her.

"My birthday happens to fall in June but I 'll never believe

that such pretty things as opals can bring bad luck," she

laughed, taking the fan, which he returned to her, and stroking

one of the bigger opals with her finger tip.

"Have you no superstitions?" he asked.

"I hope not--I don't think I have," she answered. "We're not

allowed to have superstitions, you know--nous autres

Catholiques."

"Oh?" he said, with surprise. "No, I did n't know."

"Yes, they're a forbidden luxury. But you--? Are you

superstitious? Would you be afraid of opals?"