“Four years at least,” said Pietro.  “You have your ceremonial dress, but nothing better for the street.”

“I caught a glimpse of myself in one of Testolini’s mirrors yesterday,” said the cardinal, “and I thought I looked rather well.”

“Your eminence,” said Pietro, “you saw your face and not your coat.”

“Pietro,” said the cardinal, rising, “you should have turned your hand to diplomacy; you would have gone far.”

At half-past four o’clock the cardinal’s barca drew up to the molo.  The oarsmen were dressed in black, save that their sashes and stockings were scarlet.  The bowman landed.  It was as though a footman came off the box of a brougham and waited on the curb.  While the figures on the clock-tower were still striking the half-hour, the cardinal came limping across the Piazza.  The gondoliers at the molo took off their hats and drew up in two lines.  The cardinal passed between them, looking each man in the face.  He beckoned to one, who left the ranks and came up to him, awkward and sheepish.

“Emilio,” said the cardinal, “I have arranged your matter.  You are to pay four lire a week, and are to keep out of the wine-shops.  Mind, now, no drinking.”  To another he said, “I have looked into your case, Marco.  You are perfectly right.  I have employed counsel for you.  Attend to your business and forget your trouble.  It is my trouble, now.”  To a man to whom he beckoned next he spoke differently.  “How dare you send me such a petition?” he exclaimed.  “It was false from beginning to end.  You never served in the legion.  The woman you complain of is your lawful wife.  You married her in Padua ten years ago.  You have been imprisoned for petit theft.  You got your gondolier’s license by false pretences.  Mark you, friends,” he said, turning, “here is one of your mates who will bear watching.  When he slips, come to me,” and he stepped into his barca.

“To the English yacht,” he said.

When they arrived they found the Tara dressed in flags, from truck to deck; Lady Nora stood on the platform of the boarding-stairs, and the crew were mustered amidships.

“Your eminence,” cried Lady Nora, “you should have a salute if I knew the proper number of guns.”

“My dear lady,” said the cardinal, taking off his hat, “the Church militant does not burn gunpowder, it fights hand to hand.  Come for me at six,” he said to his poppe.

“Surely,” said Lady Nora, “you will dine with us.  We have ices with the Papal colors, and we have a little box for Peter’s pence, to be passed with the coffee.  I shall be much disappointed if you do not dine with us.”

“Wait!” called the cardinal to his barca.  The oarsmen put about.  “Tell Pietro,” he said, “to feed the pigeons as usual.  Tell him to lay crumbs on the balcony railing, and if the cock bird is too greedy, to drive him away and give the hen an opportunity.  Come for me at nine.”

“Thank you,” said Lady Nora; “your poor are now provided for.”