‘Nothing could be more utterly unlikely in this case.’
‘Nevertheless, as a priest, and because I have been the means of inciting you to action, I ask you to give me your word that you will not be led into a duel.’
‘I cannot promise that,’ answered Castiglione. ‘That is a question about which a priest and a soldier cannot possibly agree. Forgive me for saying that you know no more of my profession than I do of yours, Father.’
‘Perhaps. But you may be wrong.’
The old man turned back the left sleeve of his loose and threadbare brown frock. Castiglione started slightly as he looked, for the monk’s arm was gone.
‘I left it at Aspromonte, in the sleeve of a red shirt,’ he said quietly, ‘and I was in orders already. I made submission afterwards. Perhaps a priest and a soldier may yet agree.’
Castiglione held out his hand across the table, and Padre Bonaventura took it frankly.
‘I beg your pardon,’ said the Captain. ‘I can promise an old soldier what I would never promise a priest. I do not foresee any chance of a duel, but if the possibility of one arises, I will do my very best to avoid it; I will go as far as I can without being a disgrace to the regiment.’
‘Thank you,’ answered the monk. ‘I know that is the most I can expect. As for what you are to do, I cannot advise you, for you know this modern world better than I. The lady will come late this afternoon to hear the result of the step I have taken.’
‘Tell her from me——’