"Without doubt," said the Cardinal.

"Well--? What can one do?"

The Cardinal looked grave.

"One can pray," he said.

"Emilia and I pray for his conversion night and morning."

"That is good," he approved.

"But that is surely not enough?"

"One can have Masses said."

"Monsignor Langshawe, at the castle, says a Mass for him twice

a week."

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"That is good," approved the Cardinal.

"But is that enough?"

"Why doesn't Monsignor Langshawe call upon him--cultivate his

acquaintance--talk with him--set him thinking?" the Cardinal

enquired.

"Oh, Monsignor Langshawe!" Beatrice sighed, with a gesture.

"He is interested in nothing but geology--he would talk to him

of nothing but moraines--he would set him thinking of nothing

but the march of glaciers."

"Hum," said the Cardinal.

"Well, then--?" questioned Beatrice.

"Well, then, Carissima, why do you not take the affair in hand

yourself?"

"But that is just the difficulty. What can I what can a mere

woman--do in such a case?"

The Cardinal looked into his amethyst, as a crystal-gazer into

his crystal; and the lines about his humorous old mouth

deepened and quivered.

"I will lend you the works of Bellarmine in I forget how many

volumes. You can prime yourself with them, and then invite

your heretic to a course of instructions."

"Oh, I wish you would n't turn it to a joke," said Beatrice.

"Bellarmine--a joke!" exclaimed the Cardinal. "It is the first

time I have ever heard him called so. However, I will not

press the suggestion."

"But then--? Oh, please advise me seriously. What can I do?

What can a mere unlearned woman do?"

The Cardinal took snuff. He gazed into his amethyst again,

beaming at it, as if he could descry something deliciously

comical in its depths. He gave a soft little laugh. At last

he looked up.

"Well," he responded slowly, "in an extremity, I should think

that a mere unlearned woman might, if she made an effort, ask

the heretic to dinner. I 'll come down and stay with you for a

day or two, and you can ask him to dinner."

"You're a perfect old darling," cried Beatrice, with rapture.

"He'll never be able to resist you."' "Oh, I 'm not undertaking to discuss theology with him," said

the Cardinal. "But one must do something in exchange for a

couple of hundred lire--so I'll come and give you my moral

support."




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