“Yes,” the maid replied. “Clergymen. One is that bishop who came before.”
“The bishop who came before! And—What’s the other like?”
“Oh, quite old and feeble—rather stoutish—but he’s been a fine handsome man in his day. He wears a red necktie under his collar.”
“Well—I—am! … Thanks. I’ll be down in a minute.”
George put his writing-board away and brushed the front of his blue linen jacket, mentally and corporeally pulling himself together.
“Flavio, I should just like to know the meaning of this. I rather wish that I had Iulo here to back me up. If they are meditating mischief, an athletic and quarrelsome youngster, with an eye like a basilisk and a mouth full of torrential English, would be an excellent trump to play. Mischief? What nonsense! Don’t you give way to your nerves, man. Respectable epistatai do not habitually engage in mischief, as you are well aware. You have nothing to fear: so put on a mask—the superior one with a tinge of disdain in it—and brace yourself up to resist the devil; and go downstairs at once to see him flee.”
The two visitors were in the dining-room, a confined drab and aniline room rather overfilled with indistinct but useful furniture. When George entered, they stood up—grave important men, of over forty and seventy years respectively, dark-haired and robust, white-haired and of picturesque and supercilious mien. George went straight to the younger prelate: kneeled; and kissed the episcopal ring.
“Your Eminency will understand that I do not wish to be disrespectful,” he said to the senior, with as much quiet antipathy as could be crowded into one man’s voice: “but the Bishop of Caerleon calls himself my friend; and I am at a loss to know to what I may attribute the honour of Your Eminency’s presence, or the manner in which you will allow me to receive you.”
“I hope, Mr. Rose, that you will accept my blessing as well as Dr. Talacryn’s,” the Cardinal-Archbishop replied in a voice where hauteur strangely struggled with timidity. He extended his hand. George instantly took it; and respectfully kneeled again, noting that this ring contained a cameo instead of the cardinalitial sapphire. Then he caused his guests to become seated. The atmosphere seemed to him laden with the invigorating aroma of possibilities.
“Zmnts1 wishes to ask you a few questions,” the young bishop began; “and he thought you would not take it amiss if I were present as your friend.”
George shot a glance of would-be affectionate gratitude at the speaker; and turned, saying “I have been imagining Your Eminency in Rome—in the Conclave.”
“I was there until a fortnight ago; and then—well, you are said to be an expert in the annals of conclaves, Mr. Rose, so it will interest you to know that we stand adjourned.”
“For the removal of the Conclave from Rome?”
“Oh dear no! There is no need for removal. The Piedmontese usurpers treat us with profound respect, I’m bound to say. No. We simply stand adjourned.”
“But this is extremely interesting!” George exclaimed. “Surely it’s unique? And may I ask—no, I would not venture to inquire the cause: but, is this generally known? I have seen nothing of it in the papers; and I am not on speaking terms with any Roman Catholics except the—”
“No. It is not generally known; and it is not intended to make an official announcement, for reasons which you will understand, and which, I believe, you will respect.”
“I am much honoured by Your Eminency’s confidence,” George purred.
“Certain affairs required my personal presence in England;” the cardinal continued. He was a feeble aged man, almost senile sometimes. He hesitated. He stumbled. But he maintained the progression of the conversation on its hands and knees, as it were, with “These are very pregnant times, Mr. Rose.”
George went to the door: admitted his cat who was mewing outside; and resumed his seat. Flavio brushed by cardinalitial and episcopal gaiters turn by turn: bounded to his friend’s knee: couched; and became still, save for twinkling ears. The prelates exchanged glances.
“But perhaps you will let me say no more on that subject, and come directly to the point I wished to consult you upon.” The cardinal now seemed to have cleared the obstacles; and he archiepiscopally pranced along. “It has recently been brought very forcibly to my remembrance that you were at one time a candidate for Holy Orders, Mr. Rose. I am cognizant of all the unpleasantness which attended that portion of your career: but it is only lately that I have realized the fact that you yourself have never accepted, acquiesced in, the adverse verdict of your superiors.”
“I never have accepted it. I never have acquiesced in it. I never will accept it. I never will acquiesce in it.”
“Would you mind telling me your reasons?”
“I should have to say very disagreeable things, Eminency.”
“Never mind. Tell me all the truth. Try to feel that you are confiding in your spiritual father, whose only desire is to do justice—I may even say to do justice at the eleventh hour.”
“I am inclined indeed to believe that, because you yourself have condescended to come to me. I wish, in fact, to believe that. But—is it advisable to rake up old grievances? Is it desirable to scarify half-healed wounds? And, how did Your Eminency find me after all these years?” The feline temper of him produced dalliance.
“It certainly was a difficult matter at first. You had completely disappeared—”
“I object to that,” George interrupted. He suddenly saw that this was the one chance of his life of saying the right thing to the right person; and he determined to fight every step of the way with this cardinal before death claimed him. “I object to that,” he repeated. “I neither disappeared nor hid myself in any way. There was no question of concealment whatever. I found myself most perfidiously deserted; and I went on my way alone, neither altering my habits, nor changing my appearance—”
“There was no
