"Well, take heart. I will talk to Burrai; he shall not bother you any more."
He did, in fact, have an interview with the King of Spades, and took him severely to task for putting such wicked ideas into Ledda's head. "The poor fellow is far from strong as it is," said he. "If you don't let him alone, he will be ill."
Burrai regarded the priest calmly out of his shrewd little pig-eyes, then he gave a puff and shook his head.
"I only do it for his own good," he said confidently.
"But what good, what possible good? You——"
"I tell you, my dear fellow—I beg your pardon—but here it is, for the present—as long as the cold weather lasts—there is very little to be feared, so far as the young woman is concerned; that is, I fancy that now it is only the old one, Costantino's mother-in-law, who is at work, advising and tormenting her daughter not to let her chance slip by. But when the spring comes—then you'll see; that's all."
The chaplain's face fell; he was disturbed and puzzled. The other, watching him out of his sharp, little eyes, concluded that the present would be a good time to explain himself more fully, and accordingly began to enlarge upon the mother-in-law's grasping disposition, the youth of her daughter, the dangers of the spring season, and so forth. The chaplain now became really angry.
"This is too much!" he exclaimed, as he strode up and down, striking the palms of his hands together, and his eyes flashing. "How dare you imagine all this string of things that may possibly happen, and then repeat them to that poor creature as though they were actual occurrences? Because the young woman once had another suitor, you mean to say——"
"My dear friend, there is no need to get so angry," said the other. "Here, look at this," and he showed him the anonymous letter.