At once the bishop’s countenance fell, but he recovered himself sufficiently to express satisfaction that Madame Riano was in Luxembourg. He then went on to say, taking me as well as his brother into his confidence, that one object of his visit was to induce Francezka to give up all hope of her husband’s return, and, putting on mourning, to comport herself as a widow should. I could not help compassionating the bishop when he said this, knowing what he was likely to receive. He consulted with Father Benart whether he should admonish Francezka in public or in private. Father Benart reflected a moment before he answered. We were then driving along the splendid avenue of lindens toward the château, which sat in fairy beauty on its terraces, the morning sun gilding its white façade, the canal sparkling in the light, the grass freshly green—all, all, lovely to excess. After a pause, Father Benart spoke:
“It is a painful and delicate subject, brother, and 324 but little can be safely said upon it. I think it best, perhaps, if you are determined to speak, to do so in the presence of a third person.”
The little priest told me afterward, that he was afraid, if the bishop undertook to harangue Francezka in private, he would get such a reception that his ears would burn for a week; and he looked to the third person to restrain Francezka’s tongue, which was somewhat free on all occasions.
By that time we had dismounted from the coach. Francezka was not awaiting the bishop at the top of the terrace, which seemed to annoy him. He forgot that he had arrived some hours in advance of the time.
Count Saxe, however, was strolling about enjoying the fragrance of the morning. The bishop had not seen him since our return from Courland, and, by some accident, had never been enlightened as to his real name and rank. It was not without secret amusement that I introduced him to the bishop, who instantly recognized his old acquaintance. His Grace was a moving sight at the moment. His face fell, his eye wandered aimlessly around as he muttered to himself:
“Count Saxe—Count Saxe—and is it possible I did not know that he was Count Saxe?”
“I think not, Monseigneur,” replied Count Saxe, “else your Grace would not have criticized my expedition into Courland so freely before my face.”
The bishop’s chagrin was a little mitigated by Francezka’s appearance at that moment. She greeted him courteously, apologized for her delay in appearing, and had old Peter to show the bishop to his apartment, where he might repose himself until dinner time. 325 Count Saxe made some excuse to be absent from dinner, and when the hour came, only Francezka, the bishop, Father Benart, Madame Chambellan and myself sat down together.
As soon as it was over, and we had retired to the red saloon, the bishop intimated he had something of a particular nature to say to Francezka.
“Then, will your Grace say it here?” said Francezka, who knew the bishop’s propensity for haranguing, and reckoned, as Father Benart had done in her own case, upon Father Benart to restrain the bishop. She continued: “All of the friends present are close to me, and conversant with my affairs—hence, no harm can come of your Grace’s speaking openly.”