But he was mistaken; though he asked her several searching questions, she answered them all without hesitation, and then told him the story of the letters and spoke of her husband’s hesitations and of her own fears; and at last she put the case directly: Would it be wrong to act contrary to his expressed wish or not? That was what she had come to ask.
The monk was silent for a few moments, and then asked her a question in his harsh, unforgiving tone.
‘What is the character of the man who wrote those letters? Is he what is called a man of honour?’
Maria, on the other side of the perforated brass plate, straightened herself unconsciously as if she had been offended in the street.
‘He is brave and honourable,’ she answered proudly, after an instant.
‘Very well. I suppose he is a gentleman at large, a noble without occupation in life, is he not?’
‘On the contrary, he is an officer in active service.’
‘Very good. So much the better.’
She thought the old monk’s voice softened a little. She was quite sure it was less harsh. He had pronounced the words ‘a noble without occupation’ with an accent of profound contempt, and Maria did not see how the fact of being an officer in the Italian Army could be a recommendation in the eyes of a bare-footed friar whose political opinions might reasonably be thought to be those of Gregory Seventh or Pope Alexander Third. But Maria said nothing, and waited for another question. It came, in a kindly tone.