'Truant!' said the girl reproachfully, throwing her arm round Eleanor. 'As if you ought to go out without your coffee! But it's all ready for you on the loggia. Where have you been? And why!—what's the matter?'
Eleanor told the news as they mounted to their rooms.
'Ah! that was the priest I saw last night!' cried Lucy. 'I was just going to tell you of my adventure. Father Benecke! How very, very strange! And how very tiresome! It's made you look so tired.'
And before she would hear a word more Lucy had put the elder woman into her chair in the deep shade of the loggia, had brought coffee and bread and fruit from the little table she herself had helped Cecco to arrange, and had hovered round till Eleanor had taken at least a cup of coffee and a fraction of roll. Then she brought her own coffee, and sat down on the rug at Eleanor's feet.
'I know what you're thinking about!' she said, looking up with her sweet, sudden smile. 'You want to go—right away!'
'Can we trust him?' said Eleanor, miserably. 'Edward doesn't know where he is,—but he could write of course to Edward at any moment.'
She turned away her face from Lucy. Any mention of Manisty's name dyed it with painful colour—the shame of the suppliant living on the mercy of the conqueror.
'He might,' said Lucy, thinking. 'But if you asked him? No; I don't believe he would. I am sure his soul is beautiful—like his face.'
'His poor face! You don't know how changed he is.'
'Ah! the carabiniere told me last night. He is excommunicated,' said
Lucy, under her breath.