“Offences towards me?” Peter wondered. “Unless excess of patience with a very trying employer constitutes an offence, she has been guilty of none.”
“Never mind,” said the Cardinal. “Her conscience accuses her—she must satisfy it. Will you come?”
The Cardinal sat down at the head of Marietta's bed, and took her hand.
“Now, dear,” he said, with the gentleness, the tenderness, of one speaking to a beloved child, “here is Mr. Marchdale. Tell him what you have on your mind. He is ready to hear and to forgive you.”
Marietta fixed her eyes anxiously on Peter's face.
“First,” she whispered, “I wish to beg the Signorino to pardon all this trouble I am making for him. I am the Signorino's servant; but instead of serving, I make trouble for him.”
She paused. The Cardinal smiled at Peter.
Peter answered, “Marietta, if you talk like that, you will make the Signorino cry. You are the best servant that ever lived. You are putting me to no trouble at all. You are giving me a chance—which I should be glad of, except that it involves your suffering—to show my affection for you, and my gratitude.”
“There, dear,” said the Cardinal to her, “you see the Signorino makes nothing of that. Now the next thing. Go on.”
“I have to ask the Signorino's forgiveness for my impertinence,” whispered Marietta.