There her ears were suddenly greeted with a sound of riotous shouting and singing on the road, and Alfredo ran out from the dining-room to join her.
'Festa!'—he said, nodding to her in a kindly patronage, and speaking as he might have spoken to a child—'Festa!'
And Dalgetty began to see a number of carts adorned with green boughs and filled with singing people, coming along the road. Each cart had a band of girls dressed alike—red, white, orange, blue, and so forth.
Alfredo endeavoured to explain that these were Romans who after visiting the church of the 'Madonna del Divino Amore' in the plain were now bound to an evening of merriment at Albano. According to him it was not so much a case of 'divino amore' as of 'amore di vino,' and he was very anxious that the English maid should understand his pun. She laughed—pretended—showed off her few words of Italian. She thought Alfredo a funny, handsome little man, a sort of toy wound up, of which she could not understand the works. But after all he was a man; and the time slipped by.
After ten minutes, she remembered her duties with a start, and hastily crossing the glass passage, she returned to her post. All was just as she had left it. She listened at Miss Alice's door. Not a sound was to be heard; and she resumed her sewing.
* * * * *
Meanwhile Manisty and Eleanor were busy with Father Benecke. The poor priest had come full of a painful emotion, which broke its bounds as soon as he had Manisty's hand in his.
'You got my letter?' he said. 'That told you my hopes were dead—that the sands for me were running out?—Ah! my kind friend—there is worse to tell you!'
He stood clinging unconsciously to Manisty's hand, his eyes fixed upon the
Englishman's face.
'I had submitted. The pressure upon me broke me down. I had given way. They brought me a message from the Holy Father which wrung my heart. Next week they were to publish the official withdrawal—"librum reprobavit, et se laudabiliter subjecit"—you know the formula? But meanwhile they asked more of me. His Eminence entreated of me a private letter that he might send it to the Holy Father. So I made a condition. I would write,—but they must promise, on their part, that nothing should be published beyond the formal submission,—that my letter should be for his eyes alone, and for the Pope. They promised,—oh! not in writing—I have nothing written!—so I wrote. I placed myself, like a son, in the hands of the Holy Father.—Now, this morning there is my letter—the whole of it—in the Osservatore Romano! To-morrow!—I came to tell you—I withdraw it. I withdraw my submission!'