Once seated at supper, the conversation took a general turn, requiring all the Abbé's skill and Jekyl's tact at times to cover from the servants who waited the secret meaning of many of those allusions to politics and party which Lady Hester uttered, in the perfect conviction that she was talking in riddles. Her indiscretion rendered her, indeed, a most perilous associate; and in spite of hints, warnings, and signs, she would rattle on upon the dangerous theme of revolt and insurrection; the poor devices of deception she employed being but sorry blinds to the native quickness of Italian shrewdness. This little fire of cross-purposes sadly perplexed the canonico, who looked up now and then from his plate with a face of stupid astonishment at all that went forward. “You have heard, I suppose, canon,” said the Abbé, adroitly addressing him, “that the city authorities have only granted twelve thousand crowns for the festival of San Giovanni?” “Twelve thousand crowns! It will not pay for the throne of the Virgin,” growled out the canon, “not to speak of the twenty-six angels in sprigged muslin!” “There are to be no angels this time. The priests of the Santa Croce are to walk behind the canopy.” “It will ruin the procession,” muttered the canon. “They certainly look as little like angels as need be,” interposed Jekyl, slyly. “Sixty lamps and two hundred tapers are a scant allowance,” continued D'Esmonde. “Darkness,--positive darkness!” ejaculated the canon; “ubi evasit pietas nostra?--what has become of our ancient faith?” “The soldier, your reverence, wishes to see you immediately,” said a servant, entering in haste; “he fears that he is sinking fast.” “The heavy dews of the morning are falling--can he not wait till the sun rises, Giuseppe?” “You had better see him at once, canon,” whispered the Abbé. “Oimè! oimè!” sighed the priest, “mine is a weary road--'potum meum cum fletu miscebam,'” added he, finishing off his champagne, “is it far from this?” “Only to the boat-house, father,” said Lady Hester. “Per mares et ignos! it's a good half-hour's walk,” growled he. “You can have the pony carriage, father,” interposed she. “He starts at everything by night--don't trust the pony,” said Jekyl. “Well, then, be carried in my chair, father.” “Be it so,--be it so,” muttered he. “I yield myself to anything,--'sicut passer sub tecto,'--I have no will of my own.” “Go along with him, my Lord,” whispered D'Esmonde: “the opportunity will be a good one to see the young officer. While the father talks with the sick man, you can converse with the friend. See in what frame of mind he is.” “Does he speak French? for I am but an indifferent German,” said Norwood. “Yes, French will do,” said D'Esmonde, who, after a moment's hesitation as to whether he should reveal the secret of Frank's country, seemed to decide on still reserving the knowledge. “But this could be better done to-morrow,” said Norwood.