When she re-entered the sala di compagnía, her cousin was telling stories in a loud over-bearing voice, of the feats of his dog in hunting up and pulling down Moors, Jews, and heretics. The brute's ancestors had distinguished themselves in this line during the repeated massacres in Spain.
"Pray desist, Alfonso," said the Duchess, "or I shall be unable to eat my dinner."
He laughed, and continued his narrations in a lower voice. This was the Cardinal's last day, and he grudged every moment of Giulia's time that was devoted to any but himself.
"Is the girl going on well?" said he to her.
"The wound is dressed, but her recovery is considered doubtful by Bar Hhasdai. Do you disapprove of my employing a Jewish leech?"
"By no means; there are none equal to them. The Spaniards did very foolishly, I think, to expel the whole race. There are no such physicians, astronomers, or metaphysicians."
"They are sad infidels, however, and Bar Hhasdai is unconverted."
"All the better," said the Cardinal lightly. "I distrust renegades. Better be a good Jew than a bad Christian. In medicine especially, I believe a baptised Jew loses half his virtue; the charm is broken."
"That never occurred to me," said the Duchess. "But I dare say it is so, since you say it."