“I share your anxiety, my dear Rocca,” returned Forli with benignity. “The reasons I wish Bari away from home are more personal, although he holds one or two other preferments I would be glad to add to my own,--a priory in Flanders, with a very good little canonry somewhere near Bordeaux. And our dear Gualtiero here--his interest, of course, is yet more immediate.” “The conte then has decided to seek advancement in the Church?” asked Rocca, glancing at me keenly. “I have not really considered it until very lately,” I replied; “but the continued favor of His Holiness has led me to feel that my ambition might lie there, and if the Archbishopric of Bari were offered me, I presume I could gratify my friends by ceding the dependent benefices. I am passing rich,” I added a little proudly; “it would be the preferment, the opportunity, of course--” “Never despise the florins, my friend!” cried Forli, paternally; “recall the old Tuscan proverb, ‘Good cats mouse better just to grow fat, than from mere hunger.’ Still, we will not decline Bari’s benefices,--eh, Rocca?” “No--by Santo Paolo!” “Don’t swear by the old saints, Rocca,” urged Forli, frowning; “very vulgar: the worthy Bembo, our arbiter of letters, would be incensed. ‘By Jupiter!’ ‘By Diana!’ those are the oaths for philosophers and gentlemen. Yet again to business: we are agreed Bari has become dangerous to my influence with His Holiness, to Rocca’s pocket, to Regenstein’s ambition. The Archbishopric of Bari once vacated, it will take only a timely hint to secure it for our Gualtiero, who will, of course, be content to wait a few years for the actual cardinalate.” “I will,” I assented, “yet, Eminenza, consider that his present Holiness raised his nephew to the red hat, though only twenty-one years old; I am twenty-five--” “But hardly a kinsman of His Holiness,” smiled Forli; “a vast difference. Yet patience,--Leo de’ Medici is living a long while for a pope. That abscess which got him so many votes at the conclave may break out again at any time, and then!--” He waved his arms with true Italian elegance. “We trust the conclave will appreciate the learning, eloquence, and ah,--the piety of the Cardinale di Forli,” completed Rocca. “_Grazie!_” cried the other, half rising. “I consent, gentlemen,” I said, a trifle bored at the meandering of the conversation. “I understand you do not wish to attack Bari unless you can propose me as his successor; otherwise, some candidate of the Cardinale di Metaponto would reap all your reward. I consent to aid your undertaking, and I pledge myself not to lack in gratitude. Yet wisdom would advise due caution in compassing the disgrace of Bari.” “Disgrace?” echoed both cardinals, looking at me a little blankly. “I used the word, reverend sirs.” “Why,” smiled Rocca, blowing through his teeth, “I presume there is after all some disgrace in dying with great abruptness.”