“But,” he said, “since his Holiness has mentioned the matter, I beg that your Eminence will inform him that, though the question of my marriage seems to be in everybody’s mouth, it is as yet merely a project in which no active steps have been taken.”

“I am glad of it, Giovanni,” replied the Cardinal, familiarly taking his arm, and beginning to pace the hall; “I am glad of it.  There are reasons why the match appears to be unworthy of you.  If you will permit me, without any offence to Madame Mayer, I will tell you what those reasons are.”

“I am at your service,” said Giovanni, gravely, “provided only there is no offence to Donna Tullia.”

“None whatever.  The reasons are purely political.  Madame Mayer—­or Donna Tullia, since you prefer to call her so—­is the centre of a sort of club of so-called Liberals, of whom the most active and the most foolish member is a certain Ugo del Ferice, a fellow who calls himself a count, but whose grandfather was a coachman in the Vatican under Leo XII.  He will get himself into trouble some day.  He is always in attendance upon Donna Tullia, and probably led her into this band of foolish young people for objects of his own.  It is a very silly society; I daresay you have heard some of their talk?”

“Very little,” replied Giovanni; “I do not trouble myself about politics.  I did not even know that there was such a club as your Eminence speaks of.”

Cardinal Antonelli glanced sharply at his companion as he proceeded.

“They affect solidarity and secrecy, these young people,” he said, with a sneer, “and their solidarity betrays their secrecy, because it is unfortunately true in our dear Rome that wherever two or three are gathered together they are engaged in some mischief.  But they may gather in peace at the studio of Monsieur Gouache, or anywhere else they please, for all I care.  Gouache is a clever fellow; he is to paint my portrait.  Do you know him?  But, to return to my sheep in wolves’ clothing—­my amusing little conspirators.  They can do no harm, for they know not even what they say, and their words are not followed by any kind of action whatsoever.  But the principle of the thing is bad, Giovanni.  Your brave old ancestors used to fight us Churchmen outright, and unless the Lord is especially merciful, their souls are in an evil case, for the devil knoweth his own, and is a particularly bad paymaster.  But they fought outright, like gentlemen; whereas these people—­foderunt foveam ut caperent me—­they have digged a ditch, but they will certainly not catch me, nor any one else.  Their conciliabules, as Rousseau would have called them, meet daily and talk great nonsense and do nothing; which does not prove their principles to be good, while it demonstrates their intellect to be contemptible.  No offence to the Signor Conte del Ferice, but I think ignorance has marked his little party for its own, and inanity waits on all his councils.  If they believe in half the absurdities they utter, why do they not pack up their goods and chattels and cross the frontier?  If they meant anything, they would do something.”