'Entrez, mon père, entrez,' said Eleanor, holding out a friendly hand. 'Are you, too, braving the sun? Did you pass Miss Foster? I wish she would come in—it is getting too hot for her to be out.'
'Madame, I have not been on the road. I came around through the Sassetto.
There I found no one.'
'Pray sit down, Father. That chair has all its legs. It comes from
Orvieto.'
But he did not accept her invitation—at least not at once. He remained hesitating—looking down upon her. And she, struck by his silence, struck by his expression, felt a sudden seizing of the breath. Her hand slid to her heart, with its fatal, accustomed gesture. She looked at him wildly, imploringly.
But the pause came to an end. He sat down beside her.
'Madame, you have taken so kind an interest in my unhappy affairs that you will perhaps allow me to tell you of the letter that has reached me this morning. One of the heads of the Old Catholic community invites me to go and consult with them before deciding on the course of my future life. There are many difficulties. I am not altogether in sympathy with them. A married priesthood such as they have now adopted, is in my eyes a priesthood shorn of its strength. But the invitation is so kind, so brotherly, I must needs accept it.'
He bent forward, looking not at her, but at the brick floor of the loggia. Eleanor offered a few words of sympathy; but felt there was more to come.
'I have also heard from my sister. She refuses to keep my house any longer. Her resentment at what I have done is very bitter—apparently insurmountable. She wishes to retire to a country place in Bavaria where we have some relations. She has a small rente, and will not be in any need.'
'And you?' said Eleanor quickly.
'I must find work, madame. My book will bring me in a little, they say. That will give me time—and some liberty of decision. Otherwise of course I am destitute. I have lost everything. But my education will always bring me enough for bread. And I ask no more.'