“Shocking superstition, is it not, Herr Count?”
The speaker was a man in priest’s garb, who had been standing unnoticed behind him during the greater part of the ceremony. A man with a fat, sensual face, whose expression of professional gravity was clearly assumed, since his nature was obviously more worldly than ascetic.
Zarka gave a significant shrug. “A pathetic ceremony, father,” he observed, with a cynical grin which completely neutralized his words. “A memento mori does one good occasionally.”
“It should be helpful,” the other assented with professional unction, contradicted somewhat by a twinkle in his eye which seemed to want but little encouragement to become a wink.
Evidently Zarka knew his man, since he was at no pains either to moralize on the function they had just witnessed or to disguise his scoffing humour. He untied his horse, and throwing the bridle over his arm was affable enough to offer to walk with the priest for a part of the way home, a proposal which the other welcomed with alacrity. Whatever his private opinion of his companion may have been, the lord of Rozsnyo and Obergespan of the district was distinctly a personage of importance, and as such was to be cultivated whenever opportunity served.
“You have my sincere pity,” Zarka said presently, “in having your lot cast among these obstinately benighted hinds. Your work must be discouraging.”
No one knew better than Zarka that whatever effect his work might have on the portly priest, discouragement could not be included in it, since the somewhat scattered duties of his office were scamped in the most flagrant way.
“It is, indeed, far from what I could wish,” the priest replied, with evasive meaning.
“Yes,” Zarka proceeded, speaking more seriously now as he drew nearer to the object he had in view, “I am sure of it. You are, if I may say so, my dear Hornthal, too good for your surroundings. You have,” he glanced at the ample figure of his companion, “you have a cathedral presence, and we find you in a barn.”
The priest acknowledged the compliment with a bow and a gratified smile. “A comfortable barn,” he smirked, “thanks to your lordship, with the chaplaincy of Rozsnyo.”