Anthony chuckled.
"I 'm sure he did—I see my Adrian," he said. "Well, I owe him more than he 's aware of."
"Your Excellency is the legitimate Count of Sampaolo," said Susanna.
"Antonio, by the Grace of God, and the favour of the Holy See, Count of
Sampaolo—thirty-fourth count, and eighteenth of the name. I am your
very loyal subject. Let's conspire together for your restoration."
"You told me the other day that you were a subject of the Pope,"
Anthony objected.
"That is during this interregnum," she explained. "The Pope is our liege lord's liege lord, and, in our liege lord's absence, our homage reverts to him. I will never, at all events, admit myself to be a subject of the Duke of Savoy. Let's plot for your restoration."
"My 'restoration,' if that is n't too sounding a term, is a thing past praying for," said Anthony. "But I don't know that I should very keenly desire it, even if it were n't."
"What!" cried she. "Would n't it be fun to potentate it on a scarlet throne?"
"Not such good fun, I fancy, as it is to squire it in these green meadows," he responded. "Are n't scarlet thrones apt to be upholstered with worries and responsibilities?"
"Are n't green meadows sown thick with worries and responsibilities?" asked Susanna.
"Very likely," he consented. "But for a moderate stipend I can always hire a man like Willes to reap and deal with them for me."