The curé thought for a moment, and answered slowly. "I can see her still," he said, "because there was something different about her from any one else I ever saw. As she came toward me in the Place, where you and I met, she looked like a statue moving, her face was so white, and her eyes seemed to be white, too, like the eyes of a statue. But when she drew nearer, I saw that they were a pale, whitish blue, rimmed with thin lines of black. There was very little colour in her lips or in her light brown hair, and she had on a gray hat and travelling dress."
"Idina Bland!" Vanno exclaimed.
"You recognize the lady from my description?"
"Yes. What you say about her eyes is unmistakable. She's a distant cousin of ours—on our mother's side: Irish, from the north of Ireland; but she has lived a good deal in America with my mother's brother and sister. She has no nearer relatives than ourselves, and for three winters she was in Rome—oh, long after you went away. I thought she was in America now. I wonder——" He broke off abruptly, and his face was troubled. "What questions did she ask you?" he went on. "Were they about—my brother?"
"Yes. She wished to know if I could tell her just when he was expected with his bride, and what would be their address when they arrived. I had the impression from something she said that she had heard about me from you."
"I don't remember," said Vanno. "I may have mentioned to her that we had a friend, a curé near Monte Carlo. She has a singularly good memory. She never forgets—or forgives," he added, half under his breath. "When did she come here?"
"The day before yesterday it was, Principino."
"Did she say whether she was staying in the neighbourhood?"
"No, she said nothing about herself, except that she had known your family well for years."