So we took our way in a coach to the Palace, and were ushered into the presence of the Cardinal with the usual ceremonies. He was a thin old man, with a long, dark face and a grumbling voice. We partook of chocolate and sugar biscuits, and made polite conversation until the object of our visit was broached; thereupon, a mighty storm began—that is, a storm from His Eminence, for we stood side by side in the middle of the great room, silent before the torrent of his wrath. After thundering hotly at Father Urbani, as if he, dear man, were to blame, he turned on me.
"What were you ever sent here to the College for? And since when has it been turned from a House of God into a training-school for every worthless cockatrice that would follow the drum? Tell me, sir, what did you come here for?" he stormed.
"'TELL ME, SIR, WHAT DID YOU COME HERE FOR?' HE STORMED"
"Indeed, your Eminence, I cannot tell," I answered, coolly.
"Cannot tell! No, and no one else, I dare say, will answer for it. What in the world do the bishops mean by sending such good-for-naughts here without finding out something about them?"
I was much tempted to say that my family was well known, but Father Urbani's hand was on my arm, and I knew I was to hold my tongue, which I did, although many things were said that, had any other man uttered, I would have held to be insulting.
At length, to our great relief, he made an end, and bidding Father Urbani get rid of me as soon as possible, he dismissed us. We bowed ourselves out, and I was free to enter the service for which I longed.
When we were at home again, Father Urbani said, "My dear Giovannini, now this is ended, I will say no more than I will see myself you are fittingly supplied with clothes and money, and if you desire first to return to Scotland, I will see you are sent thither."