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Updated: June 2, 2025
"I have never before met a woman whom I should wish to have for my friend," said Lord Redin, one day when he was alone with Francesca. "I daresay I am not at all the kind of man you would select for purposes of friendship," he added, with a short laugh. Francesca smiled a little at the frankness of the words, and shook her head. "Perhaps not," she said. "Who knows?
We say a proverb in the country 'to salute is courtesy, to answer is duty. Therefore when any one salutes a real signore, he answers and lifts his hat. These are the reasons why I say this one must be a great one." "For that matter, you are right," laughed the porter. "That signore is an English lord. What a combination! You have guessed it. His name is Lord Redin."
The same thought occurred to Lord Redin as he slowly threaded the streets, going back to his hotel, to his lonely dinner, his lonely evening, his lonely, sleepless night.
On an open doorstep lay a copper 'conca' the Roman water jar a wretched dog was rushing down the street with something in its mouth, in front of Lord Redin, a woman was pursuing it with yells, swinging a small wooden stool in her right hand, to throw it at the dog, and the neighbours were on their doorsteps in a moment. Stefanone slunk under the shadow of the wall, grinding his teeth.
Very far away an occasional strain of music floated on the air from the Chapel of the Choir, the last on the left before the transept is reached. Lord Redin walked leisurely in the direction of the sound. The chapel was full, and the canons were intoning the psalms of the office. At the conclusion of each one the choir sang the 'Gloria' from the great organ loft on the right.
"Yes," she said, and waited for him to say more. "What is it?" she asked presently, as he did not speak at once. "It is about Dalrymple about Lord Redin," he said at last. "You used to know him. Do you ever see him now?" Francesca looked at him with a little surprise, but she answered quietly, as though the question were quite a natural one. "He was here five minutes ago. Yes, I often see him."
Maria and I were married on board an English man-of-war, and we lived in Scotland after that. Gloria was the daughter of Maria Braccio, the Carmelite nun your kinswoman." Francesca pressed her handkerchief to her lips. She felt as though she were losing her senses. Minute after minute passed, and she could say nothing. From time to time, Lord Redin glanced sideways at her.
He rarely worked on Sundays, having long ago convinced himself that a day of rest was necessary in the long run. As he was coming home, he saw Lord Redin walking far in front of him down the Corso, easily recognizable by his height and his loose, swinging gait. Griggs had not proceeded many steps further when Stefanone passed him, walking at a swinging stride.
"No," she answered. "It would not have been easy." She remembered her interview with Griggs, but resolved not to speak of it. She would have changed the subject abruptly if he had given her time. "It certainly was not to be expected that you should," said Lord Redin, thoughtfully.
The air was very quiet, and the enormous pillar of the dome almost completely shut off the echo of the distant music. The low afternoon sun streamed levelly through the great windows of the apse, for the basilica is built towards the west. There were very few people in the church that day. The sun made visible beams across the high shadows overhead. Suddenly Lord Redin spoke again.
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