The artist stared after him with so dark a look on his face that if Paolo had been in Purgatory in place of his sister, with Angelo for mass-priest, Paolo's detention would certainly have been a long one. "What can this mean?" muttered the artist. "I shall see Father Ignatius to-night, and shall ask him the meaning of this affront." "Perhaps," said Daphne, "the priest has seen me, and is vexed to think that the Madonna he asked you to paint, instead of being, as he supposed, an ideal face, is simply the portrait of an Englishwoman--and of an Englishwoman who is a heretic in his eyes, you know." The artist was silent, and, turning to Daphne, I said: "I will just ask uncle how long he is going to remain standing over there." Walking off quickly, I overtook the attendant before he reached the sacristy door. "You really do not know, then," said I to him, "why Father Ignatius wishes the picture to be destroyed?" "I know no more than I told Master Angelo just now, sir." My uncle at this juncture approached us, wondering much to see Angelo's Madonna in the hands of the attendant. Addressing Paolo, he said, while pointing to the sacristy door: "The old man who went in here with the priest--is he still within? I want to see him." "He is gone. Left a few minutes since." "Gone? Left? What! both of them?" "Both of them." "They did not pass through this door-way then?" "No, sir. They left the sacristy by a side-door." "Confound it! Baffled!" exclaimed my uncle with a gesture of impatience, and stamping his foot. "After all this waiting, too! What are we to do, Frank?" "Do you want very much to see this old man?" said Paolo. "Perhaps," and he looked around, as if to see that no priest were by--"perhaps I may be able to help you." "Help us?" said my uncle. "Good! You will be the very man for our purpose. Ah!" he continued, as he saw the fellow's face gleam with the hope of a reward, "you worship the golden calf, I see. We understand each other. What is your name?" "Paolo." "Paolo, eh? None other? Perhaps you prefer a single name. The great men of Greece had but one. Well, Paolo, you must know every face in this little town. Tell us whether this old man is an inhabitant of Rivoli." "He is a complete stranger to me," replied the attendant. "I have never seen his face till this morning." "If, Paolo, you can find out for us what his name is, where he is staying, whence he came, and what business brings him here," my uncle continued, "I will give you more money than you can earn in a twelvemonth. There is an earnest of it," and he pressed some silver pieces into the fellow's palm. "But conduct your inquiries very secretly and cautiously. You understand? We do not wish him to suspect he is being watched. We are tourists staying at the Châlet Varina--you know it--a house perched on a crag on the mountain-side, two miles from here----" "Châlet Varina! What, Andrea Valla's house--the great tenor's?"