M. des Graves, though he did not know the truth, saw quite well, in spite of Louis’ careful and elaborate defences, that he was engulfed in some mental turmoil. As the days went on the young man fell, despite himself, into long and most unusual silences. Were these things merely due to the enforced solitude of what Louis had himself termed his “retreat”? The priest did not think so. One event only broke the monotony of the end of October. As Louis was standing one morning in the hall awaiting his horse, the Curé opened the library door and came out. “Good-morning, my dear Louis,” he said. “I wanted to see you before you started, to tell you that, with your permission, I shall have a guest at dinner to-day.” “I shall be delighted,” responded the young man, pulling on his gloves. “It is not, by any good chance, a lady—one of your parishioners, of course.” “If you want to give a dinner-party a to the tenants’ wives,” replied M. des Graves imperturbably, “I do not see why you should deprive yourself of the pleasure. No, it is merely a priest who is coming to see me, and to whom I should be glad if you would extend your hospitality. He will be here this morning, and has come a long way—from Rome, in fact.” Louis gave vent to a little whistle. “And is travelling about in France at this juncture? Rather a dangerous occupation. Bring him by all means. He will stay the night?” M. des Graves replied that he was not sure, and Louis went down the steps to his impatient horse. He rode far that morning, and had almost forgotten about the prospective guest, so that when he entered the dining-room he was surprised to see, standing by the window in converse with M. des Graves, a tall thin man in lay dress. Turning round, he revealed to Saint-Ermay’s view an emaciated face with a bird-like nose and tight, thin-lipped mouth. “Louis,” said the Curé, “let me present you to Monsignor Giuseppe Cantagalli. Monsignore, M. le Vicomte de Saint-Ermay.” The newcomer’s bow savoured as much of a court as Louis’ own. His peculiarly polished air was indeed the first thing to strike the young man as they sat at meat together; next, the resolution which lay coiled beneath it, like a spring of steel. The very way he carried his head, his neat, precise enunciation, were indications of it. Last of all the Vicomte noticed the extreme deference which he surprisingly paid to the Curé.