Father Cardi, a benevolent-looking elderly priest, at once began talking to Arthur about the Sapienza, with an ease and familiarity which showed him to be well acquainted with college life. The conversation soon drifted into a discussion of university regulations, a burning question of that day. To Arthur's great delight, the new Director spoke strongly against the custom adopted by the university authorities of constantly worrying the students by senseless and vexatious restrictions.
“I have had a good deal of experience in guiding young people,” he said; “and I make it a rule never to prohibit anything without a good reason. There are very few young men who will give much trouble if proper consideration and respect for their personality are shown to them. But, of course, the most docile horse will kick if you are always jerking at the rein.”
Arthur opened his eyes wide; he had not expected to hear the students' cause pleaded by the new Director. Montanelli took no part in the discussion; its subject, apparently, did not interest him. The expression of his face was so unutterably hopeless and weary that Father Cardi broke off suddenly.
“I am afraid I have overtired you, Canon. You must forgive my talkativeness; I am hot upon this subject and forget that others may grow weary of it.”
“On the contrary, I was much interested.” Montanelli was not given to stereotyped politeness, and his tone jarred uncomfortably upon Arthur.
When Father Cardi went to his own room Montanelli turned to Arthur with the intent and brooding look that his face had worn all the evening.
“Arthur, my dear boy,” he began slowly; “I have something to tell you.”
“He must have had bad news,” flashed through Arthur's mind, as he looked anxiously at the haggard face. There was a long pause.
“How do you like the new Director?” Montanelli asked suddenly.
The question was so unexpected that, for a moment, Arthur was at a loss how to reply to it.