The Mother of God liked them to make a cheerful show in honour of that good old man, the Patron Saint.  And Saint Dodekanus himself—­what would he think, if this ancient act of homage were withheld?  He would be very angry.  He would send an earthquake, or a visitation of the cholera, or a shower of ashes from the volcano across the water.  Piety and prudence alike counselled them to keep in his good graces.  And what more?  The performance had been established by the Good Duke; and that endless line of godly bishops, succeeding each other since his day, would never have given their sanction to the costumes and the acting had they not known that the Madonna approved of them.  Why should She now think differently?  The Mother of God was not a fickle earthly creature, to change Her mind from one day to the next.

With arguments such as these they endeavoured to controvert the parroco who, being a fighter to the death, a resourceful ascetic of unbending will, never admitted defeat.  He bethought him of other shifts.  On one celebrated occasion he actually induced the bishop—­tired as the old prelate was, after his morning’s ride on the white donkey—­to attend the performance, hoping to obtain from him some confirmation of his own view, that the objectionable scene should be entirely remodelled or, better still, cut out altogether.  The reverend dignitary was supposed to be extremely short-sighted and wandering, moreover, in his mind, from sheer decrepitude.  Perhaps he was wily beyond the common measure of man.  Be that as it may, he witnessed the spectacle but allowed nothing to escape his lips safe a succession of soft purring sound resembling: 

Gu-gu-gu-gu-gu-gu-gu-gu-gu-,

An ambiguous utterance, which was construed by both parties as a verdict in their favour.

Mr. Heard, while conceding that the acting was good—­first rate, in fact—­could not make up his mind whether to be shocked or pleased.  He wondered whether such a play had any features in common with religion.  His host, who stood for paganism and nudity and laughter, convinced him that it had.

“You would have seen the same thing in pre-Puritan England,” he concluded, at the end of a long exposition.  “And now, if you like, we will have a look at that Club.  It may amuse you.  There is still time for the Duchess.”

CHAPTER V

“This is the place,” said Mr. Keith.

It was one of a row of tawdry modern buildings, the lower floors of which were utilized as shops—­an undistinguished sort of place, in an undistinguished street.  They climbed upstairs and wandered through two or three rooms, all alike save that one of them had a balcony; square, white-washed rooms, not very clean, and inadequately furnished with tables, cane-bottomed chairs and a few prints on the walls.  There was a lavish display, however, of bottles and glasses, and several shelves were littered with newspapers in different languages.  Acetylene lamps hung from the flat ceiling.  An odour of stale tobacco and alcohol pervaded the premises.  Flies were buzzing against the window-panes.