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Updated: May 23, 2025
I do not believe that the conscience of Christendom will again allow Peter to be deprived of his inheritance." "God hasten the good day," said Monsignor Langshawe. "If I can live to see Rome restored to the Pope, I shall die content, even though I cannot live to see France restored to the King," said the old Frenchwoman.
"My dear man," he said to himself, "you were mad to dream for a single instant that there was the remotest possibility of anything ever happening." The only other guests, besides the Cardinal and Monsignor Langshawe, were an old Frenchwoman, with beautiful white hair, from one of the neighbouring villas, Madame de Lafere, and a young, pretty, witty, and voluble Irishwoman, Mrs.
"In a case of illness, the nearest priest will always gladly come." So Peter despatched Gigi with a note to Monsignor Langshawe. And presently up drove a brougham, with Gigi on the box beside the coachman. And from the brougham descended, not Monsignor Langshawe, but Cardinal Udeschini, followed by Emilia Manfredi.
The Cardinal gave Peter his hand, with a smile so sweet, so benign, so sunny-bright it was like music, Peter thought; it was like a silent anthem. "Monsignor Langshawe has gone to Scotland, for his holiday. I have come in his place. Your man told me of your need," the Cardinal explained. "I don't know how to thank your Eminence," Peter murmured, and conducted him to Marietta's room.
"Why doesn't Monsignor Langshawe call upon him cultivate his acquaintance talk with him set him thinking?" the Cardinal enquired. "Oh, Monsignor Langshawe!" Beatrice sighed, with a gesture. "He is interested in nothing but geology he would talk to him of nothing but moraines he would set him thinking of nothing but the march of glaciers." "Hum," said the Cardinal.
And Gigi came back with the intelligence that the Parrocco was away, making a retreat, and would not return till Saturday. To-day was Wednesday. "What shall we do now?" Peter asked of Sister Scholastica. "There is Monsignor Langshawe, at Castel Ventirose," said the sister. "Could I ask him to come?" Peter doubted. "Certainly," said the sister.
"Without doubt," said the Cardinal. "Well ? What can one do?" The Cardinal looked grave. "One can pray," he said. "Emilia and I pray for his conversion night and morning." "That is good," he approved. "But that is surely not enough?" "One can have Masses said." "Monsignor Langshawe, at the castle, says a Mass for him twice a week." "That is good," approved the Cardinal. "But is that enough?"
After the necessary greetings were transacted, another elderly priest joined the company; a tall, burly, rather florid man, mentioned, when Peter was introduced to him, as Monsignor Langshawe. "This really is her chaplain," Peter concluded. Then a servant brought tea.
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