Manuel was silent for a little space.  His eyes wandered from the Cardinal’s venerable worn features to the upstanding silver crucifix that gleamed dully in the glow of the wood-embers.

“I will not leave you unless it is well for you that I should go,” he answered at last, “And even then, you will always know where to find me.”

The Cardinal looked at him earnestly, and with a searching interrogation,—­but the boy’s face though sweetly composed, had a certain gravity of expression which seemed to forbid further questioning.  And a deep silence fell between them,—­a silence which was only broken by the door opening to admit Prince Sovrani who, pausing on the threshold, said,

“Brother, if you will allow yourself to be disturbed, Angela would like to see you in her studio.  There are several people there,—­her fiance, Varillo among the number,—­and I think the girl would be glad of your presence.”

The Cardinal started as from a dream, and rose from his chair.

“I will come at once—­yes—­I will come,” he said, “I must not be selfish and think only of my own troubles!” He stood erect,—­he was still in the scarlet robes in which he had made his appearance at the Vatican, and they fell regally about his tall dignified form, the vivid colour intensifying the pallor of his thin features.  A servant entering at the moment with two large silver candelabra ablaze with lights, created an effect of luminance in the room that made him appear to even greater advantage as an imposing figure of ecclesiastical authority, and Prince Pietro looked at him with the admiring affection and respect which he, though a cynic and sceptic, had always felt for the brother of his wife,—­affection and respect which had if anything become intensified since that beloved one’s untimely death.

“You were well received at the Vatican?” he said tentatively.

“Not so well as I had hoped,” replied the Cardinal patiently—­“Not so well!  But the cloud will pass.  I will go with you to the studio,- -Manuel, will you stay here?”

Manuel bent his head in assent; he had just closed the before open copy of the Gospels, and now stood with his hand upon the Book.

“I will wait till you call me, my lord Cardinal,” he replied.

Prince Pietro then led the way, and Cardinal Bonpre followed, his scarlet robes sweeping behind him with a rich rustling sound, and as the two entered the large lofty studio, hung with old tapestries, and panelled with deeply carved and gilded oak, the room which was Angela Sovrani’s special sanctum, all the persons there assembled rose from their different sitting or lounging attitudes, and respectfully bent their heads to the brief and unostentatious benediction given to them by the venerable prelate of whom all present had heard, but few had seen, and everyone made way for him as Angela met and escorted him to a seat on one of the old, throne-like chairs with which