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When His Eminence, the irreproachable
Cardinal, turns up in Florence, neither
you nor your committee must object to my being
as spiteful as I like. It's my due!"
He spoke in his lightest, coldest manner, pulling
the chrysanthemums out of their vase and
holding them up to watch the light through the
translucent petals. "What an unsteady hand he
has," she thought, seeing how the flowers shook
and quivered. "Surely he doesn't drink!"
"You had better discuss the matter with the
other members of the committee," she said, rising.
"I cannot form any opinion as to what they will
think about it."
"And you?" He had risen too, and was leaning
against the table, pressing the flowers to his face
She hesitated. The question distressed her,
bringing up old and miserable associations. "I
--hardly know," she said at last. "Many years
ago I used to know something about Monsignor
Montanelli. He was only a canon at that time,
and Director of the theological seminary in the
province where I lived as a girl.


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