“I was wondering how Monsignor Scalchi is,” his friend said.
“When he sees me, he coughs,” said the coadjutor.
At that moment the person of whom they spoke entered the sacristy, with a priest at either hand. A rustling cope of cloth of gold covered his whole person, his eyes were downcast, his hands folded palm to palm, and he murmured prayers as he came.
The young men stood respectfully aside as he passed, his garments smelling of incense, and went to disrobe at the other end of the sacristy.
“Don’t lose courage, Don Enrico!” said one of the group. “He looks feeble. He can scarcely lift his feet from the floor.”
“Poh!” exclaimed Don Enrico. “He is as strong as I am. He buys his shoes too long, so that they may drag at the heels and make him seem weak in the legs.”
He yawned, saluted with a graceful wave of the hand, and sauntered out into the silent piazza.
“Don Enrico is out of temper about his brother’s affairs, as well as his own,” one of his friends said when he was out of hearing. “They say that Claudio is in love with Tacita Mora, and is making a fool of himself. If he should offend the Sangredo, Don Enrico will lose the cardinal’s patronage. Professor Mora was as blind as a bat. He thought that Tacita was a child, and that Don Claudio was enamored of the Chinese language.”
“But the nurse never leaves the girl,” some one said.
“Oh! the nurse is dark!” said one of the sacristans.