“Pray tell me, sir, who asked you to concern yourself with this matter. Whose instructions are you obeying?” “Forgive me, Monsieur l’abbé,” said Fleurissoire in some confusion, “I was given no instructions by anyone. I am just a poor distraught soul seeking on my own behalf.” These humble words disarmed the _curé_; he held out his hand to Fleurissoire: “I spoke to you roughly.... But such dangers surround us.” Then, after a short hesitation: “Look here! Will you come with me to-morrow? We will go and see my friend together....” and raising his eyes to Heaven: “Yes, I dare to call him my friend,” he repeated in a heartfelt voice. “Let’s sit down for a minute on this bench. I will write him a line which we will both sign, to give him notice of our visit. If it is posted before six o’clock (eighteen o’clock, as they say here), he will get it to-morrow morning in time for him to be ready to receive us by twelve; we might even, I dare say, have lunch with him.” They sat down. Protos took a note-book from his pocket, and under Amédée’s haggard eyes began on a virgin sheet as follows: “Dear old cock....” Then, seeing the other’s stupefaction, he smiled very calmly: “So, it’s the Cardinal you’d have addressed if you’d had your way?” After that he became more amicable and consented to explain things to Amédée: once a week the Cardinal San-Felice was in the habit of leaving the archbishop’s palace in the dress of a simple _abbé_; he became plain chaplain Bardolotti and made his way to a modest villa on the slopes of Mount Vomero, where he received a few intimate friends, and the secret letters which the initiated addressed him under his assumed name. But even in this vulgar disguise, he could feel no security--he could not be sure that his letters were not opened in the post, and begged therefore that nothing of any significance should be said in any letter and that the tone of a letter should in no way suggest his Eminence, or have in it the slightest trace of respect. Now that he was let into the secret, Amédée smiled in his turn. “‘Dear old cock’.... Let me think! What shall we say to the dear old cock?” joked the _abbé_, hesitating with pencil in hand. “Ah!... ‘I’ve got a funny old chap in tow!’ (Yes, yes! It’s all right! I know the kind of style.) ‘I’ll bring him along, so dig out a bottle or two of Falernian and to-morrow we three will have a party.’ ... Here! you sign too.” “Perhaps I’d better not sign my own name.” “Oh, it doesn’t matter about yours,” returned Protos, and after the name of Amédée Fleurissoire he wrote the word _Cave_.[G] “Oh, that’s very clever!” “What! are you astonished at my signing the name _Cave_? Your head is full of nothing but the Vatican _Cave_. You must know, my good Monsieur Fleurissoire, that _Cave_ is a Latin word too, and that it means BEWARE!”