“Impertinence—?” faltered Peter. “You have never been impertinent.”
“Scusi, Signorino,” she went on, in her whisper. “I have sometimes contradicted the Signorino. I contradicted the Signorino when he told me that St. Anthony of Padua was born in Lisbon. It is impertinent of a servant to contradict her master. And now his most high Eminence says the Signorino was right. I beg the Signorino to forgive me.”
Again the Cardinal smiled at Peter.
“You dear old woman,” Peter half laughed, half sobbed, “how can you ask me to forgive a mere difference of opinion? You—you dear old thing.”
The Cardinal smiled, and patted Marietta's hand.
“The Signorino is too good,” Marietta sighed.
“Go on, dear,” said the Cardinal.
“I have been guilty of the deadly sin of evil speaking. I have spoken evil of the Signorino,” she went on. “I said—I said to people—that the Signorino was simple—that he was simple and natural. I thought so then. Now I know it is not so. I know it is only that the Signorino is English.”
Once more the Cardinal smiled at Peter.
Again Peter half laughed, half sobbed.