“The chaplain of the Duchessa—?” repeated Marietta, wrinkling up her brow.
“Ang—of the Duchessa di Santangiolo. He wore red stockings, and shoes with silver buckles. Do you think that's precisely decorous—don't you think it 's the least bit light-minded—in an ecclesiastic?”
“He—? Who—?” questioned Marietta.
“But the chaplain of the Duchessa—when he was here this afternoon.”
“The chaplain of the Duchessa!” exclaimed Marietta. “Here this afternoon? The chaplain of the Duchessa was not here this afternoon. His Eminence the Lord Prince Cardinal Udeschini was here this afternoon.”
“What!” gasped Peter.
“Ang,” said Marietta.
“That was Cardinal Udeschini—that little harmless-looking, sweet-faced old man!” Peter wondered.
“Sicuro—the uncle of the Duca,” said she.
“Good heavens!” sighed he. “And I allowed myself to hobnob with him like a boon-companion.”