“Yes,” said the Cardinal. “And if he meant it, one may conclude that he has a philosophic mind.”
“If he meant it?” Beatrice cried. “Why should he not have meant it? Why should he have said it if he did not mean it?”
“Oh, don't ask me,” protested the Cardinal. “There is a thing the French call politesse. I can conceive a young man professing to agree with a lady for the sake of what the French might call her beaux yeux.”
“I give you my word,” said Beatrice, “that my beaux yeux had nothing to do with the case. He said it in the most absolute good faith. He said he believed that in a universe like ours nothing was impossible—that there were more things in heaven and earth than people generally dreamed of—that he could see no reason why the Blessed Virgin should not have sent us across the children's path. Oh, he meant it. I am perfectly sure he meant it.”
The Cardinal smiled—at her eagerness, perhaps.
“Well, then,” he repeated, “we must conclude that he has a philosophic mind.”
“But what is one to do?” asked she. “Surely one ought to do something? One ought to follow such an admission up? When a man is so far on the way to the light, it is surely one's duty to lead him farther?”
“Without doubt,” said the Cardinal.
“Well—? What can one do?”
The Cardinal looked grave.