A small, very old man this Lord Cardinal, at first sight you would have seen nothing remarkable in him. On first sight, I say, and that advisedly. Looking again, an’ you were so minded, you would have guessed aristocracy in the thin-featured face, read kindliness in the mouth, shrewdness in the eyes, intellect in the forehead, and I am very sure determination in the chin. Had you received speech of him, you would have left mere surmise for certainty, and have added thereto a knowledge of his personality, his power. Yet, for all that, you would have found him what he truly was, exceeding simple hearted. A stately progress, much retinue, irked him hugely. Yet he suffered the irksomeness on occasions, urged thereto by his chaplain, who recognized the dignity of his master vastly better than did the master himself; who held also that he knew very well what was good for both spiritual prince and subject. This prince’s pleasure, and one he occasionally indulged in, was to escape in a manner temporarily from his rank in the Roman hierarchy, play _incognito_ the part of simple priest. There was a certain little church set on the edge of a forest, above a village containing some few hundred souls. Here at times he found the sheer simplicity he desired. Its priest dismissed to gain recreation an’ he would in some wider sphere, the Cardinal took upon himself his duties. Here he said his daily Mass to the sound of the wind which whispered or shrilled through the forest trees according to the season, assoiled the souls of the village folk, gave them the Body of Christ to their refreshment; while never a breath of his true title got afloat. As Father Felix he was known among them; and, if you will believe me, they looked to his coming very willingly. This little matter is not one which is set forth by his biographers. Had they got wind on it they would doubtless have fashioned a very pretty tale therefrom, garnished it out of all likeness of the simple truth. Hearing it not, however, it is omitted from their pages. You have, therefore, but my word for it. Sitting now in a straight-backed arm-chair he thoughtfully surveyed an image of Our Lady on an oak bracket opposite to him, lending ear the while to the Abbess’s discourse. A brief discourse truly. It was not her way to use two words where one sufficed, to elaborate unnecessarily. Clear-brained herself she looked for a like clarity in those with whom she conversed. Finding it frequently absent she prayed for patience. On this occasion no such prayer was needed. Her discourse ended she fell to silence. Having said her say she left the verdict to other lips. An upright old figure, hands hidden in the sleeves of her gown, she sat waiting.